Jeopardy
by whashaza
Summary: An old nemesis of Gibbs returns with dire consequences for the team and Gibbs is forced to make a choice he had not been confronted with before. Team centric fic with Papa Bear Gibbs.
1. Sniper

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. I'm just borrowing the characters…so don't sue.

_I've rewritten this. Although when I've started this story I had a fair idea where I was going, I wasn't happy with my initial start. That's why I started over. __I'll upload once a week on Tuesdays. Thanks for your patience and understanding._

_Also a huge thanks to Imagine for playing beta for this story. She made everything sooo much better. ;-)_

**Jeopardy**

**By**

**Whashaza**

**Sniper**

_6 June, 9 am_

The air was still. No slight breeze to compensate for. No excuses to miss. Gibbs takes a deep breath and squints his left eye to focus on his target across the plaza with his right. The telescope already tweaked to perfection is lined up perfectly on the door that would soon open.

A moment later two body guards exit and, though they look in his direction, he does not flinch. It wouldn't matter. He was too far away for them to see him laying prone on the rooftop a mile away.

The earpiece cackled and then the familiar voice sounded.

"Do you have the shot?"

He grunts, irritated by the intrusion.

"Do not miss."

He didn't reply to the command. There was no need. He was well aware of the consequences if he misses.

His target finally exited. A well groomed man in his fifties. Dark suit, probably Armani. Red and blue striped tie. Light blue shirt. Creases around the eyes. Brown intelligent eyes.

He takes another deep breath.

"Take it."

His finger tightens and then squeezes. He feels the gun recoil high into his shoulder. A moment later he was wriggling his way backwards, away from the edge of the building.

He didn't need to look.

He knew he had been successful. He had seen the brief blossoming of blood just after he had taken the shot.

Less than a minute later he was taking the stairs two at a time, double timing it to his car. He replaces the rifle in its bag before securing it in the boot of the sedan.

He was out the parking plaza and had just turned onto Main when two police cruisers sped past him, sirens blaring and lights flashing. He doesn't look back.

He knew where they were going.

*********

_6 June, 10 am_

An hour later he pulls onto an overgrown dirt path. The sedan bounces and creaks its way through the wild vegetation and he hears the scratches of branches against the side and roof of the car.

Ten minutes later he pulls into a clearing. An old log house sat before him. His expert eye could see the damage that had been done by woodlice and weather. Unkempt ivy crawled over the walls and the sound of a house wren's burbling warble filled the air. Crickets and cicadas added to the cacophony that surrounded the building.

He could feel a trickle of sweat make it way down the side of his face. The heat inside the car was slowly building but he ignored it. His grey eyes scanned the seemingly innocuous surroundings, expertly taking note of every breath, sound and movement that emanated around him.

If he closed his eyes he would see his team again. He would see their faith that he'd do right by them. That he'd save them.

Sometimes being a leader was a bitch for the choices you had to make.

When the chirping stopped abruptly, he looked to the left of the house and wasn't the least surprised when two men stepped from the shade of the porch. He gave a grim smile before exiting the car, his hands in the air.

"Where is she?"

One of the men lifted an eyebrow at his question and then smiled. Teeth white against the dark of his skin. Strong, muscular build. Shaven head. Dark eyes.

And very dangerous. He knew that now. Knew it with a hate that almost overwhelmed him.

The second man was olive skinned, black hair and brown eyes that didn't seem to miss anything. The silent one that had stood by as his companion had taught Gibbs his lesson. Oh, he wouldn't forget that lesson quickly – he would never ever underestimate the men before him again.

He circles Gibbs before expertly patting him down. A moment later, satisfied that the ex-Marine was not carrying a weapon, he steps away.

None that shoots bullets anyway.

Gibbs glared at them, his hands still in the air. He wasn't about to give them any excuses. Silence pervaded for another minute before the tell tale crunch and scrape of a car coming down the path interrupted. He heard the crunch as the hand break was pulled up and the creak of a door opening.

He didn't turn around even though he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and the familiar tightness in his stomach as muscles clenched involuntarily, readying himself for action.

He heard a second door open and the near silent blast of the air conditioner. Footsteps sounded on the dry summer grass that seemed to have encompassed the entire area. A moment later a familiar face came into his view.

Grey hair. Brown eyes. Amiable smile. Hands casually in pockets.

"You did well, Gibbs. Better than expected."

"I did as you asked."

Gibbs paused, wanting nothing more than to kill the man in front of him but knowing it would be counterproductive. Swallowing the urge, he held the brown eyes with his. He had no leverage. He had done as he was told for only one reason and everyone in the clearing knew it. They knew what was burning inside him, what had allowed him to do something as drastic as take up his gun to kill again.

He steeled himself, steeled his gaze.

"Now I want my people back."

***********

tbc


	2. Tony and Ziva

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who put this on alert__ and fav. Thanks to shirik, BnBFanatic, Laura-trekkie, bat-with-butterfly-wings, Topanga and julie250 for your reviews._

_Also to Imagine and Terra who made this soooo much better – Thank you. ;-)_

_and without further adieu…_

**Tony and Ziva **

_One week ago - 30 May, Time unknown_

Cold. Dark. Hurting. He woke up slowly and found himself somewhere else.

Curled tightly against a wall, he had fresh bruises on his skin and tightness in his chest. The customary rattle that he never quite seemed to get rid of on cold days announced itself with his next breath. He sighed, briefly remembering that psycho who'd sent a letter to NCIS infected with pneumonic plague, that he'd been stupid enough to open.

And, in the process, no doubt saved McGee's life, he mused.

He shivered. Damn. It was cold wherever he was. Not that he could remember much.

_Chaos. Screaming._

_Reaching for his gun that wasn't in his holster. _

_Pain._

Forgetting about the bruises and scarred lungs, he released an involuntary grunt of discomfort, sitting up suddenly as his memories launched at him like a love-starved woman. He remembers the fists and boots. He remembers Ziva.

_Oh God. Ziva…_

She had fought like a wildcat high on drugs. Even as he had gone down, his body folding around a boot, he had admired her skill. The cold efficiency she'd battled with until the butt of a gun crashed into her skull.

He had seen the life seep out of her as she had crumbled into herself.

The fury had ignited. Given a brief respite, he'd risen like a demon, his eyes full of fire and venom. Only the familiar click of a gun being drawn had sounded loud enough to alert him of his own peril.

He'd turned, determined to stop whoever it was, when something solid had crashed against the back of his head. Darkness had come about instantaneously...

...until he had woken to find himself here.

_For once he couldn't be held captive somewhere nice with cable TV and hot dinners?_

Clearly this wasn't Ziva's place anymore. This was some kind of make-shift prison. Sturdy enough, he surmised from what he could see in the dim slice of light from the door.

Ziva was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment he panicked as the image of her motionless battered body flashed back at him.

Then he heard a peculiar sort of hissing sound, similar to air escaping…or…possibly…being indrawn like one does if one is in pain…

"Ziva?"

His voice sounded abrasive, even to himself, in the stillness. He hears another hiss, plus a grunt of discomfort, followed by the sound of cloth sliding against something, seemingly jagged. Looking for the source, Tony turned and now realized the noises were coming from just the other side of the wall.

It might as well have been a thousand miles away. His fingers touch wood, rough enough to impale one or two sizeable splinters into his hands. He holds his breadth, listening intently**.**

Nothing.

Throwing a cautionary look towards the bolted door, he tries to rouse her again - calling her name softly.

No response. In fact, there weren't any indications of another living soul. In his anxiety over Ziva's whereabouts, he was beginning to be unsure if what he'd heard was even been real. After possibly two or three minutes (which felt like 20) had elapsed, he'd become aware of other noises that buildings make as they cool off at night. And just as Tony had convinced himself it'd all been just random sounds…

"Tony?"

He could hear her pain. He could hear the effort it must've taken to speak his name. And he had been right. She was on the other side of the wall.

"You okay?"

"I've had worse."

Somehow he believed her. He wondered about all the agony that Ziva managed to keep hidden so well throughout the years he'd known her. About the horror stories she didn't share. How a woman so strong could, at the same time, seem so vulnerable.

He sighed, recognizing her well-concealed agony only because he had just as many years of practice perfecting that particular skill they held in common, like so many others.

"Anything broken?"

A groan and then some muffled movements were heard through the wall, as he guessed she was assessing her condition.

"I'm well enough to defend myself," she asserted finally. "Are you hurt, Tony?"

"Do bruises count?"

He could hear the smile in her voice when Ziva enquired, "Any idea who the men were that attacked us?"

"No. Sorry. I thought it might've been someone you or your father had pissed off."

He hears her chuckle at his answer. It took him back to the time when they**'**d been undercover, taking on the identities of two dead assassins until things had gone to hell. The uncontrollable fear he**'**d felt when Marcos Siazon had threatened to cut Ziva into pieces resurfaced momentarily with a vengeance, but he managed to forcefully bring his focus back to the here and now.

It wasn't something he was willing to investigate - definitely not under these circumstances, in this place**, **or anywhere else for that matter.

"Any chance you can pick the lock?

His belt was gone. And with it Rule number 9. _Never go anywhere without a knife._

His shoes, shirt, watch and wallet were missing too, not that they would've made a difference.

But somehow he hoped that because she was Mossad she had a lock pick hidden under some fake skin or something.

Hey, you can always hope. There had to be a reason why the protagonists always seemed to triumph over the antagonists in the movies he liked to see so much. He had yet to meet a script in which the good guys really lost out.

Besides, Magnum always managed to escape his captors.

He cleared his throat when the uncomfortable silence continued long enough for him to start worrying again.

"Any luck?"

"I'm sorry, Tony. I could not find anything to use to pick the lock."

Nodding was instinctual, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see him.

"Do you think Gibbs knows?"

Now, it was his turn to chuckle. "Gibbs knows everything. I bet he's already breaking down doors and out intimidating the bad guys into telling him where we are."

She didn't reply. Most likely she knew, just as well as he, there'd been no apparent justification for the assault and that it**'**d probably be Monday morning before Gibbs realized they were missing.

They were in-between cases. They hadn't been on the receiving end of threats for awhile. Gibbs would have no reference or starting point, other than to search for anyone who so horribly despised one or both of them that it drove him or her to orchestrate and carry out this brutal scenario. Personally, in his career as a cop and very special agent, he had gained enough enemies to fill a lifetime. It was a list that included the idiot who had tried to frame him for murder - Charles Stirling. And Ziva's list, he was convinced, was at least twice as long as his.

_Think of something. _

But he kept drawing a blank. Their kidnappers were distinctly professionals. They wouldn't be so amateurish as to allow him or Ziva the slightest opportunity to escape.

The safest course would be to wait and see what happened next and hope to hell that Gibbs would find them before their attackers returned.

***********

tbc


	3. McGee and Abby

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who put this on alert and fav. Thanks to shirik, BnBFanatic, Laura-trekkie, IsabelGibbs922_ _and julie250 for your reviews._

_Also to Imagine and Terra who made this soooo much better – Thank you. ;-)_

_and without further adieu…_

**McGee and Abby**

_30 May, 10 am_

"This isn't funny anymore, McGee." Abby hunched over, huffing her displeasure at her work colleague and friend.

"Come on, Abs. It's not that far anymore. I promise." McGee turned to look back at her, his face reddened from the effort of the trail they had undertaken this morning.

The Goth straightened her stance, her hands automatically going to her hips as she shot him an I-don't-believe-you glare.

"When you said a _Sunday afternoon stroll_ I had not envisioned a strenuous hike in the woods, McGee."

"I did promise you fresh air, didn't I?"

Abby gave another huff of annoyance. It was true that McGee had promised her fresh air. But she should've known better when Timothy had parked her hearse under a tree right next to a sign that had proclaimed the warnings for the trail and its difficulty rating.

She should've turned around then but the face McGee had made and the promise that it wouldn't be far had softened her determination to leave. At that stage she had asked herself - How bad can it be?

Now she knew.

If only she were back at her lab, music blaring away in the background while she whispered sweet nothings to her babies. One thing was sure, when they returned, she would make McGee clean her equipment for dragging her up here.

"It's not that bad, Abs. Only another mile and we're there."

"It'd better be only a mile, McGee, or else ..." She left the rest deliberately unsaid.

* * *

_30 May, 11 am_

"Tadaa," McGee smiled, his hand sweeping toward the mountainside lodge before them. "So, what do you think?"

Abby squints against the glare of the sun then nods. It was a beautiful setting. She had to give McGee credit for that much, but the lodge itself had seen better days. To her expert forensic eyes, it looked rundown and definitely not something to write home about.

"Uh, it's nice, McGee."

She knew her attempt to be diplomatic and kind had failed miserably when McGee's face dropped like a puppy dog found out for having been naughty.

"No, really; I like it….just needs a little work."

When McGee had asked her to come and see the lodge he had bought, she had thought of the one or two she had visited on occasion with the bowling sisters. This was most definitely not the five star accommodations she had been expecting**, **that's for sure.

McGee, seemingly having forgotten her earlier statements, made his way proudly toward the front door.

"Come on, let me show you around. I know it looks a little rough," he admits, having seen her expression. He sighs and says, "Okay, so it looks _really _rough but the inside is much better, you'll see. I've got a Comcast broadband installed."

Abby's eyes lit up with pleasure. "Now your talking, McGee."

McGee opens the front door, bowing slightly when Abby starts to enter. The Goth freezes, though, just inside the threshold, as her eyes finally adjust to the dim lighting.

Seated on one of the chairs**,** centered in the middle of the room**,** was a man. He drew her attention immediately. He held the gun on his lap so casually that there was no doubt he knew how to use it.

"Uh, McGee," she said softly, her eyes not moving an inch from the intruder's face.

"Yeah?"

"You didn't say anything about house guests."

* * *

_30 May, 12 am_

She knew the manual on how to manage kidnapping and hostage situations. She understood all the theoretical knowledge as well. And yet, it wasn't so much fun taking part in the hands-on side of things.

As a matter of fact, she was fairly certain that she hated being a hostage.

Or whatever this whole thing was supposed to be.

Abby pulled her legs even tighter against her body as she glanced at the gun man from beneath her lashes. Both she and McGee were seated in the middle of the room, on the rusty carpet. At least the carpet was thick, so her butt was not yet sore. McGee's arm tightened around her shoulders and she leaned into him, seeking his comfort.

She wished it could've been Gibbs' arm though.

Not that she had anything against McGee but when it came to her fears and bad guys with guns, Gibbs was just so much better to have at your side. Plus he probably would've taken care of the bad guy by now.

She bit her lower lip and moved even closer to McGee. She knew it was unfair to compare him to her boss man**.**

The gun man was standing by the window, curtain pulled slightly to the side. He surveyed the outside for what seemed like the umpteenth time then turns his gaze back on them. Abby curls tighter against McGee as the black man's eyes sweep over her.

_"Can I help you?"_

_She could hear the tremor in her co-worker's voice as he valiantly tries to pull her behind him and away from the menacing barrel of the gun._

_"Close the door."_

_Immediately she knew she hated his voice. It was smooth as silk with grave bass tonality. It didn't bring any comfort to mind. It brought to mind violence and apprehension. She grabbed McGee's shirt tightly as the agent slowly obeyed the command, managing to close the door while keeping her close to his back._

_"Listen, take what you want and leave. We won't stop you."_

_"Shut up."_

_She knew they were in trouble – the kind with the capital T - when McGee stiffened at the words. _

_Think…What would Gibbs do?_

_But Gibbs wasn't here._

_Abby shrieked when the man pulled her from behind McGee. She thought about fighting back, had brief flashes of her overpowering the bad guy until she was reminded of the gun._

_She felt it press against her head as McGee was picking himself up from the floor. His hand __had __automatically moved to where the firearm had connected with his nose and came away smeared with blood. He looked at her and then at the man who held her._

_"Do as you're told and Abby doesn't die. Got it?"_

_McGee nodded; his eyes dark with dread when they met hers once again. She tried to be brave. Really did. But as soon as they'd been ordered to sit on the floor, she'd felt the first tears involuntarily escape. McGee had silently folded his arms around her and she had nestled in, glad for any comfort. _

The man's walkie talkie cackled. Warning them not to move, he opened the door and stepped out on to the porch. She could hear his whispered responses but couldn't quite make out the words. Between the muffled volume and poor reception, Abby's frustration tolerance had reached a new personal record. She wondered if her brain would explode and start leaking out her ears.

One thing she did know for certain was that she didn't like what ever secret was behind the smile that came to his face when he dropped the walkie talkie back into his coat, entered the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Tbc


	4. Gibbs

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who put this on alert and fav. Thanks to shirik, IsabelGibbs922, Sinkme_ _and julie250 for your reviews._

_Also to Imagine who spend her weekend making this better - a big thank you. My other beta was feeling bit under the weather so any grammar mistakes are all my own._

_and without further adieu…_

**Gibbs**

_31 May, 3 am_

"_You got a rule for everything?"_

"_Workin' on it! Everyone needs a code they can live by."_

Gibbs jerked himself awake. The bittersweet memory of his meeting with Shannon lingered long enough that for a moment he thought he smelled her perfume. Laying his head back on the wood, he wiped his face.

Kelly would've been 27 tomorrow.

He would forever have her eight year old face in his mind. He would never see her grow - never see her become a woman. She would've been elegant and strong like her mother. Of that he had no doubt.

Though their memories seemed to fade with each passing year, despite his best efforts to hold on to them, he had the rules. They were all he had left of them.

He had tried to move on but three divorces later proved that Shannon would be the one that would always hold his heart. She had been the one that had known him. The one he had felt comfortable with.

Too alert to go back to sleep, he rolled of the wooden plank that, as of late, had became his bed too often. It was hard and barely restful but it was better than making the way upstairs to an empty bed that reminded him too much of a love that had been ripped ruthlessly away. At least in the basement, he felt at ease with his surroundings.

Rippling a hand through his hair, he dislodged some of the sawdust that had inevitably settled during his slumber. He turned the sound of his TV louder before eyeing his empty coffee cup. ZNN was reporting on some disaster somewhere. He switched stations and found an infomercial for steak knives. Another flip of the channel and the canned laughter from a '70's sitcom assaulted him. With a disgusted sigh, he returned the dial to ZNN. Barely listening with half an ear, he made his way upstairs to his kitchen to brew a new batch of his house brand coffee.

Entering his living room, he stopped short when he realised that he was not alone. He could see the dark silhouette of a man seated on his couch. His first instinct was to go for his gun but it was downstairs on the workbench - right next to his cell phone. He had not expected anyone to be in his house. Had not even heard the front door open.

"Hello Leroy."

The Gunny shifts his head to the side at the familiar voice. Unwelcome memories rose to the surface and he grimaced at the visual flashbacks.

"_Leroy, don't you dare."_

_He shrugs. Even at 17 he was known as a bastard. He knew it. He knew that his hard ass attitude wasn't helping him win friends but he didn't care – especially if it meant pissing off Chuck Winslow. _

_He liked pissing of Chuck Winslow._

_He gives a half smile as he continues to walk down the road, Chuck's angry shouts following him. Half a mile further he dumps the bundle of clothes into a rubbish bin, making sure the bold red boxers were on top._

_Nobody could say that he had no artistic flair inside him. Besides, leaving Chuck stark naked next to the river was a feat in itself. He knew he would pay for his actions later but at that moment, he was actually feeling happy._

Though his thoughts were quickly interrupted with a memory how Ed and Chuck had retaliated, Gibbs smiled inwardly. The beating at the lockers, including the two busted ribs had been a price he'd been willing to pay.

Nope. He and Chuck Winslow could never be mistaken for friends.

Ignoring the other man, he makes his way to the kitchen and starts to prepare his coffee. It wasn't long before Chuck was leaning against the doorway, watching him.

"You should get a lock on that door, Leroy. One day the wrong person is going to walk in here."

"Haven't exactly got anything to steal, Chuck."

The other man grunts his reply.

Gibbs runs the water, rinsing his cup as he tries to think of an explanation for why Chuck was in his house. Something wasn't right but he couldn't quite put his finger on it and his gut was screaming for him to go back down stairs and grab his gun.

Dammit.

He bangs his cup into the sink, close the faucet and turns around. "What exactly are you doing here in my house, Chuck?"

"I have a proposal for you."

Gibbs narrows his eyes. "You have everything. What do you need from me?"

The other man straightens from his pose against the doorjamb. Something flickers in his eyes - anger - or something similar. It was enough to make Gibbs wary.

"No, I don't, Leroy. Because of you, I lost my family. My daughter won't to speak to me anymore."

"I can't say I blame her. You lied to her. You knew she had a brother and never told her."

"Still a smart mouth, I see," he hisses. "It's been like this since we were kids, hasn't it, Leroy? You never knew when to keep your mouth shut. The boy was dead. You didn't need to tell her. You destroyed my family that day and you took pleasure in doing it, didn't you? You always enjoyed taking what belonged to me."

The words were said in an even tone of voice. No hint of hidden anger. Chuck Winslow had grown up but there were still hints of his darkness hidden in a veneer of civilized conversation. He had heard it – and seen it - during his stay at Stillwater. The arrogant teen had grown into a dangerous man.

"Well, now I'm going to take what is yours."

Little whispers of alarm crawled all over Gibbs' skin. "In case you missed it, Chuck, my family is dead."

As soon as the words were spoken, images of the mangled car, the lifeless faces of his wife and daughter flashed across his mind and he turned away. He would not let Chuck Winslow see his pain or how badly he wished he could undo the past.

Chuck smiled. "You have other family, Leroy."

His eyes narrowed as he turned back to face the man. "If you think you're man enough to go after my father . . ."

"I don't mean your father."

_Oh no you don't. Don't even dare._

He knew what Chuck meant. Knew it in the way his palms sweated and his heartbeat racked up a knot. But he kept his cool and his face impassive, readying himself for action.

"It's 3 in the morning. I'm too tired for games. If you want something, say it or you can let yourself out. I'm going to bed." He says as he shoulders his way past Chuck. Turning his back on the man was not the smartest thing in the world, considering the situation, but he was not about to be bullied. He made it halfway across the sitting room when the front door opened.

He thought about running for it. Three steps and he would be at the cellar door. Four more and he would be in the cellar, his gun in his hand. All it would take is seven steps. But the lazy killing pleasure he saw in the black man's eyes put a stop to it all. That and the gun the man had in hand, pointed straight at his midriff.

* * *

Tbc


	5. Darkness

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who put this on alert and fav. Thanks to BnBfanatic, Laura-Trekkie and honeydust9251 for your reviews._

_Also to Imagine who spend her weekend making this better - a big thank you. _

_and without further adieu…_

**Darkness**

_31 May, Time unknown_

She had never done well in small enclosed spaces. She hated the feel of the darkness. The walls seemed to be creeping inwards even though she logically knew that it was a physical impossibility.

"I'm disappointed in you, Tony."

She hears him shift and could almost feel his back against hers through the wooden wall. She tried to imagine the barrier away. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she'd feel the warmth of his body against her own.

_If only she could wish the walls away, too._

"What?" She could hear the sleep in his voice. She had woken him. His breath rattles as he fills his lungs with air and sighs, "Why?"

"You have not made a movie reference yet. I have never known you to be stunted."

"The word is stumped," he tells her. Again he shifts positions, and takes a deep breath. "And, for the record, I can think of several movies that apply to our situation. I just didn't want to mention them."

Ziva leans her head against the rough texture of the wood and smiles at the familiar banter. For a moment she chose to forget about the closing walls, the ever pervading darkness and the thirst that cracked her lips.

"Why?"

The word hung in the air for a long moment before Tony responded in a rough voice, "Because all of them had bad endings for the guys in the dungeons."

Her smile faded but she didn't reply. It was enough to know that they had been left alone since she had woken up in this room. Enough to know that it had been at least a day since the men had captured them. No food. No water.

No guards.

She knew they were alone because, at one point, she had succumbed to her claustrophobia. She had banged and kicked the door in desperation, sincerely believing that the room was folding into itself. The thought that she would become trapped in rubble of wood, cement, and plaster had produced a panic attack complete with clammy hands, dry mouth and quick, heavy breaths. It had been Tony's voice, screaming at her through the wall that had calmed her. She had no idea how long he had been calling to her but, she guessed it had been a long while. When she fell against the door in exhaustion, her hands were bruised and bleeding. The normal timbre of his voice had been replaced with a gravely, strained pitch that reminded her of her brother's when he was in the throws of puberty.

They had spend the rest of the day or night – she wasn't sure anymore – either dozing fitfully or chatting about recent cases. They didn't personalise what they were experiencing; didn't speak about screwed up fathers and dead mothers.

Things had to be really bad before they'd go that route. In fact, it had to be dying bad.

She remembered Somalia. Remembered how she had felt when she had seen Tony, shackled to the chair with that million watt smile on his face. She had been prepared to die in captivity so the relief she had felt that they had come back for her had been a welcome surprise.

It had been the sight of Gibbs, though, donned in camouflage and standing in the glare of a window when he said it was time to go home that had brought everything into focus. They had cared enough to risk their lives for her.

She wondered if they would be lucky again this time.

If things continued the way they were, their time was running out. There was only so long you could go without water so, by her assessment, they had 3 days, at the most, to get out of here. After that it wouldn't matter.

Considering their physical conditions, she knew Gibbs was their only chance to escape. She could only hope he wasn't in a similar situation, waiting for them.

* * *

_31 May, 3 pm_

"My feet hurt."

"I know, Abs." McGee said under his breath, "so do mine."

He glance at the man behind them before helping the Goth climb another boulder. They had been steadily making their way up the mountain. At that moment, they felt like a light year away from his cabin.

He was used to hiking, sure but not marching under the threat of a gun. He hadn't even known about the trail that had snaked through the woods. In fact, it seemed few people did because, at times, it was so faint he wondered if they were going in the right direction. The man with the gun, however, seemed confident they were.

The man behind them was not the black man who had held them for almost an hour. He was an average Joe: white with dark curly hair and brown eyes. Make that a deadly average Joe. His side still smarted where he had been kicked when he had protested their gruelling hike. His head hurt too. Not too mention his nose. "Joe" obviously took his job of slave master very seriously.

Moments after appearing at the cabin, he had pushed them both out the door. No words had been spoken between the two men so McGee had nothing to go on except physical descriptions.

"Stop."

They turned to face him and, when he motioned toward some nearby boulders, understood the directive to sit. Thankful for the rest, they didn't question the man.

Wrapping his arm around Abby, McGee watched as Average Joe pulled a GPS navigator from his pocket. Despite the fact he was slightly distracted, McGee had done nothing but sit quietly beside Abby. His fear for her and what might happen if he failed to overpower the other man was enough to suppress the urge to play hero.

A few minutes later the man indicated for them to rise and ordered them to continue the way they had been going.

It was another hour of bone tired trekking before they ended up in front of an old abandoned mine. The wooden shoring just inside the tunnel looked old and worn.

"Inside."

McGee thought about protesting but a warning look from Joe made him obey. Joe had a flashlight; its beam lit a small circle at their feet as they slowly moved deeper into the mine.

McGee soon lost track of where they were as they marched through the abandoned tunnels. He didn't like the fact that they were in a place that could so easily become their grave. He had thought that the men would keep them alive, unless provoked. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

When the circle of light abruptly disappeared at their feet, they came to a halt. A rope fell at his feet and he reluctantly picked it up, afraid to voice the warning screams that were inside his head.

"Lower her first."

McGee gulps and then nods when the gun is raised, the dark hole unerringly lining up on Abby.

"I'm sorry," he manages to mumble. Threading the rope around her waist, he averted his eyes from hers, making sure that she was as secure as possible under the circumstances. With a glance at Joe, he steeled his stance as Abby climbed into the dark hole in front of them. A moment later her fingers left the edge and the rope snapped taught. She let out an involuntary scream then promised she was all right. Carefully, he lowered her until a minute later the rope slackened in his hands.

He starts to pull up the rope, suddenly realizing she was out of reach of their captor. Joe began wrapping the rope around him and, just as McGee began to consider grabbing for the gun, something slammed into his back.

He felt the hole sucking him in. He felt gravity's pull and desperately reached for something – anything - to stop his descent.

He was still reaching when he heard himself ask "Why?" as he fell into the dark.

* * *

tbc


	6. Lost

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_Thank you for the reviews. And to my beta for doing such a great job. ;-)_

**Lost**

_1 June, 8 am_

He heard his cell ring again and knew with almost certainty that it would be Ducky or Vance. They would want to know where he was - where his team was. Ducky would be worried. He guessed that maybe in the end it could be both men calling him, standing around the Director's phone while waiting for him to pick it up.

He couldn't pick up the phone, even if he had wanted to, so, instead he continues glaring surreptitiously at the black man named Hank standing by the door.

"Is it doable?"

He looks down at the blue diagrams set before him. After a moment, he sighs and straightens, moving from the table as his glare settles on Chuck. "There are a lot of variables that I don't like."

"I'm not asking what you like, Leroy. I'm asking you if it's doable."

"Yes."

One word. Short. Clipped. He hated the fact that he was taking orders from Chuck Winslow and playing the cooperative hostage. Hell, even the pseudo-guard had holstered his gun, knowing it wasn't needed anymore.

He would play their game – act as their lap dog - willingly. For now.

Once he knew where Chuck was keeping his team, things would change. Once he had that bit of information, he could change the situation to his advantage. If there was one thing being a sniper had taught him, it was patience.

"Gibbs."

He looks up and sees Chuck looking at him. Something must have been said after his one-word answer; Winslow was clearly waiting for a reply. When one didn't come, Chuck waived at the guard, who immediately stepped to the gunnery-sergeant's side. A moment later, Gibbs was doubled over, trying to ride out the wave of pain that spread in concentric circles from his side. A hand closed around his hair and pulled his head up so that he had no choice but to make eye contact with the other man.

"Your team will live or die, depending by your actions, Leroy. If you're not going to concentrate on keeping them alive, tell me now and we can bring all of this to an end – for everyone."

Gibbs didn't reply. It had been a little more than a day since he had slept, since they had left his home and had driven to their current location - a hunting cabin hidden deep in rural Virginia. There was nothing for at least twenty miles in any direction. A generator clucked away behind the house, providing power for the grainy, green video feed from night vision cameras set in Ziva and Tony's rooms. They appeared to be physically unhurt. There was no sound but he was sure that they were plotting ways to escape.

He wasn't so sure about Abby and McGee.

All he had been given were two photos. Abby's eyes seemed to stare straight at him - dark and luminescent. The young woman he had allowed himself to think of as a daughter was terrified. She was silently pleading with him to help her. McGee was with her, though, and, for that, Gibbs was thankful. The photo showed the dark bruising around the agent's eyes. Blood smeared over the lower part of his face. But he was alive and Gibbs knew that McGee would do anything for Abby.

If necessary, he would give his life to protect her.

_Don't go there._

His eyes were gritty and he was sure if he looked in a mirror, red from lack of sleep. His body was tired. Ten years ago, he could easily have stayed awake for 24 hours or more during a mission. Now, however, he was struggling.

"I think you might need added incentive."

Gibbs hears the words as the other man reaches for the phone. He starts to protest, rising from his chair in anger and responding to the dread that was folding around him like a blanket. In an instant, the black man grabs for his arm but Gibbs twists, his hand already curled in a fist. He connects solidly with the guard's jaw, hard enough to lay him out flat on the wooden floor. He spins toward Chuck, his movements already mapped out in his head.

The phone still in his hand, Chuck warns, "One more step, Leroy, and Ziva dies."

The words bring him to a halt, his hands still balled tightly at his side. He hears Hank moan and glances over his shoulder as the man rolls to his knees then turns his attention back on Chuck and takes a step. Suddenly, a voice comes through the phone. Tinny and alarmed.

He hesitates.

"Think carefully, Gibbs. Whatever happens next will be your doing."

He didn't doubt the threat was real. All it would take was one word from the other man and he would lose a member of his team.

Hank was standing now. His jaw tightened as he heard the click of the safety switching off but did not move. When he felt the cold steel of the gun barrel as it was pressed against his neck, he swallowed hard and, as he did, he forced the tension from his body.

Chuck smiled, watching until Gibbs' fists uncurled before he hung up the phone.

* * *

_1 June, 8:15 am_

"I just don't understand, Director Vance. Is there no way that you can trace any of their cells?"

"The GPS locators had been removed. No locator, Ducky, no fix. I'm sorry."

Ducky nods, his eyes dark with worry. It had been at least two days since he had had contact with any of Gibbs' team members. Director Vance had sent teams to each of their homes and all had come away with nothing. There had been no indications of foul play but the inability to reach any of them did more than indicate that something was seriously wrong.

This reminded him about the time he had spent as a Corpsman in Thailand. A British Naval enlisted man had disappeared from base. The man had been found a week later, thoroughly drunk in one of the local prostitute houses.

He doubted this situation would end the same way.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can remember, Ducky? Did Gibbs say anything about any current cases or…"

"No. I told you, Director, the last time I saw Gibbs was Friday night when he left the office. He said he was going home. There are no cases pending at the moment, as you very well know. There is no reason for any of them to have come in for the weekend. Nor is there anything to suggest where they may have gone."

"Could they be working a case on the sly? Something Gibbs would have kept to himself?"

The doctor stared at the man and shook his head. "If it was something he kept to himself, I wouldn't know about it, would I?"

The Director frowned. "Maybe …"

"Maybe it's time you called Fornell, Director," Ducky sighed. He didn't want to think about maybe. All his years of experience told him what something like this usually meant and he didn't like it.

When he read his fears in Vance's eyes as the other man silently reached for his phone, he didn't like it any better.

* * *

_tbc_


	7. Hurt

**Hurt**

_1 June, 11 am_

"Ziva?"

His voice was almost gone. Tony tried to gather enough saliva in his mouth to call out her name again but this time he failed. He had never been this thirsty before. Never had his body craved for water so badly that he'd do anything for one drop. He'd give up his Cary Grant movie collection or … yeah … his Magnum PI Limited Edition DVD collection. Maybe even the authentic Magnum PI Hawaiian shirt Ziva had picked up for him on EBay.

_Oh God…Ziva_

Since _they_ had left her room, he hadn't heard any movement next door. She was a fighter, both physically and emotionally, but the … sounds that had emanated from her cell had been unlike anything he'd ever heard before. Cuts, bruises, gashes and blood were commonplace in his line of work. He'd seen it all. Or, at least, he thought he had. Right now, he was afraid he hadn't. Right now, he couldn't help but imagine the kinds of injuries that could be inflicted on Ziva to make her produce the sounds he'd heard. He didn't want to think about what they had done, how they had left her, or what condition she might be in – but he couldn't help it.

_She's stronger than that. _

She had to be. Come on, Ziva. Move. Moan.

He had tried to stop the assault. Even as he heard boots hit her body with a soft wet pop, when they seemed to be done using their fists, he tried. His screams had meant nothing to the men. He cursed them. He insulted them. He even pleaded with them. But, no matter what he said, he had not been able to divert their attention from her.

_Let me know that you are still alive in there._

His hands were raw from banging against the wall. His feet bruised from trying to kick his way through the wooden door that separated them.

He closed his eyes. Thought of resting for a little bit before trying to raise Ziva again –

* * *

_1 June, 12 am_

-and woke to hear the door open.

He barely had time to realise the fact that he wasn't alone anymore. Hands curled around his arms and pulled him upwards with an abrupt jerk. A long groan of protest escaped his throat while his brain tried to come to terms with being awake and the sudden stream of light that felt like a knife piercing his eyes.

Blink the hurt away.

Not working.

He had nothing in his stomach to bring up but that didn't mean his body didn't try. He heaved, coughed and struggled as he was dragged through the doorway and into…

_Shit_

Light.

Too much damn light.

Hands curled into his hair and snapped his head up when he tried to protect himself from the glare.

"Say hi to your boss, Tony."

He croaked something. He was pretty sure he had asked where, while blinking furiously to find Gibbs' silhouette. It was too bright. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness of his cell. Tears ran down his face. Too painful to keep them open, he screwed his eyes tight, hoping it would stop the lightening bolt inside his head from completely slicing through his brain.

Gibbs' voice sounded far away. Laced with static, it was desperate and angry.

He had heard his boss angry but could not remember a time when he'd sounded desperate. It was enough of a surprise for Tony to force open one eyelid and try another attempt to locate the sniper in the glare of light. He needed something to make sense.

"-don't-"

Don't what?

Suddenly, he was pulled to his feet - forced him to stand on legs too unsteady to hold his weight. His fingers were uncurled; stretched, one by one, across a wooden bench.

The surface was rough and untreated.

Instinctively he tried to pull away but his captors held him in place. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening. He just wanted to understand …

He let out a scream, his eyes widening only long enough for the white pain that seared through his body to join with the bright light of the sun.

Then it was dark.

When he came to, he was laying face down on the floor of his cell with his fingers held protectively close to his body. He rolled to his side, coughed, then tried to push himself to his knees. In that last clear moment, before his hands pressed against the ground, he thought, "What the hell did I do?"

Then, blessed pain free darkness claimed him again.

* * *

_1 June, 12 am_

His leg really hurt. The agony seemed to ebb and rise like an ocean wave. He didn't want anyone touching it. Not even Abby.

He sucked in a breath and tried not to move. He tried to will his trembling leg muscles to quiet and the blood that was still dripping down his leg to stop.

For a brief moment, he found himself wishing that he really was the Elf Lord. Invincible with God Mode activated and a health bar that never dips beneath a hundred.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, though, another muscle spasm sent a jolt of pain up his leg. He let out a deep groan.

"I'm so so sorry, McGee."

Her voice reminded him that he needed to stay in the real world.

"I have to do this."

Do what? Why would Abby be sorry? McGee couldn't make sense of it until he felt her hand deceptively soft on his leg.

_Nonononono_

_Please God. I'll do anything…_

"Your leg has started bleeding again. I have to stop it."

He opened his mouth to protest, but didn't say a word. She was right but he couldn't help shivering at the thought of what she had to do.

She waited, watched him take a deep breath before asking, "Okay?"

It was too dark for her to him nod but he did it anyway. Then, closing his eyes, he prepared himself for the pain.

He felt her loosen the tourniquet - the torn shirt that had been wrapped around his leg after the fall and silently thanked God for the darkness. It meant that he wouldn't have to see how badly his leg really was, or the piece of bone he was sure was sticking out.

It also meant Abby couldn't see his face, or his fear. The fact that she could hear it in his voice was bad enough.

Without warning, she applied a violent twist to the shirt. He managed to swallow the pain filled scream that should have followed but couldn't stop the tears from escaping down his face. The realization didn't do his manly pride any good.

But Abby was there, telling him how Gibbs was going to find them. She promised that Gibbs would make it okay; they just had to hang on.

"He'll make them pay for this, McGee," she said. "You wait and see. Gibbs will take them all down and I will make sure he gets away with it."

Her voice was darker than he had ever heard before and, suddenly, he was glad that she was on his side. In her own way, she was reminding him of all the times she had claimed to know how to kill without leaving evidence. Only, this time, she was serious.

Beloved Abby.

He didn't want her thinking such thoughts. He wanted her all bubbly and huggy again. He wanted her safe and free from trauma.

"But we have to do our part," she continued. "We have to get out of here, McGee."

He nodded again; too tired to tell her that there was no way he could stand let alone climb out of the hole that caged them.

"I'll be back. Soon. I promise."

"Abby, no. Don't.."

Don't what? Don't leave me here alone? Don't risk getting hurt yourself? He wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. Before he could figure it out, though, another wave of agony slashed its way up his leg. He tensed, held his breath until it subsided, and scratched at the ground.

He missed her hand in his.

"McGee, I think I can climb this."

He couldn't find the strength to ask how or when she had learned to ascend sheer rock walls in the dark. It was easier to accept it as another Abby fact to be filed away with caskets beds, bowling trophies, Goth shirts, and smiling skulls with hearts for eyes.

It was something very…Abbyish.

"I won't be long. I can make it to the top and then figure a way to get you out, too, McGee."

It wasn't right. He should be the one protecting her – not the other way around.

_Abby_ – he thought as he slipped into unconsciousness. _I'm sorry…_

* * *

_Tbc _


	8. Chance 1

**Chance 1**

_1 June, 2 pm_

"_You Americans are all the same. Full of shit."_

_He ignored the goading but it didn't stop the Kurd from giving him another kick. _

"_Get up."_

_As the demand was hissed, he was pulled to his feet. With a violent shove, he was sent down the hall toward the main courtyard and he couldn't help but wonder what was in store for him today. Would it be another pseudo killing or a forced run without water? It didn't really matter anymore. Their tactics had not affected him for quite awhile, though he was careful not to let them know. He did their bidding, followed their orders and showed them the broken American they wanted to see. _

_Meanwhile, he planned his escape. _

"_You want the water?"_

_Ah. So that was the game today._

"_You know what to do." _

_He dropped his head and knelt at the feet of his captor. Without hesitation, he kissed the man's dusty boots until he felt the warm water being poured over his head. He raised his face and licked at the drops, relishing the taste as he shot a quick glance around the camp. It was just him and the three guards, just as it had been every day._

_Content in the apparent misery of his captive, the guard with the water made his first mistake. Crouching in front of the prisoner, he let his gun dangle carelessly from his right hand. _

_Ten minutes. That's how long it took to kill all three men and hotwire their jeep. He had known for some time that he was the only prisoner of the compound. As he drove through the gate, he took a long swallow of water from the stolen canteen and glanced in the rear view mirror. Despite their efforts to break him, he had survived. He had kept his head down and his pride bottled as he bided his time. _

The shaking was light at first. He tried to roll away, unwilling to acknowledge the attempt to wake him. When the motion became more insistent, he opened his eyes and glared at the man crouching over him. Hank shot him a sinister smile then rose and stepped away.

"Sleep well?"

Gibbs shifted to a sitting position and looked pointedly at the dark bruise on the man's jaw. It was evidence that his fist had made a sound and, hopefully, painful connection. "You should put some ice on that."

Self-conscious, Hank placed a hand on the bruise before motioning toward the table with his head.

Gibbs followed the unspoken command, his eyes darting around the room. They appeared to be alone but he refused to ponder where Chuck might be. He had more than enough to worry about.

A warm cup of coffee was placed in front of him. He looked up at the man beside him.

"We're short on supplies. You get one cup."

Waiting until his guard moved to a nearby chair, Gibbs reached for the drink and brought it to his lips. The first sip was no more than a drop on his tongue but, the second was less tentative and soon, the cup was empty. Without hesitation, he stood and stepped to the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hank rise from his own chair and move toward him. Wrapping his hand around the handle of the coffee pot, he gripped it tightly as the dark liquid slid into his mug.

"Hey, I told you – you get one cup."

Gibbs set the carafe back on its plate. His muscles tensed as Hank's hand came to rest on his shoulder then, without warning he spun to his right and threw the contents of the cup into the other man's face.

* * *

_1 June, 2 pm_

They didn't find Gibbs or any of his team. Not a trace. It was as if they had dropped from the face of the earth and Fornell was too experienced not to know what that meant.

Revenge.

It was the only motive that made sense. Whoever was responsible for the disappearances was smart and had planned this to the tiniest detail. In all probability, he or she had been watching the team for months. At least, that was what he hoped.

If he was right, then the security cameras outside Tony and Ziva's apartments could provide some answers. He had a whole team of Probies watching the black and white videos for any hint of suspicious activity but, so far, they had not turned up anything.

Ducky had been sequestered at the NCIS building and, though he wasn't too concerned about Palmer, he had been confined to the building as well. Fornell didn't want to take the chance that either one of them might disappear, too. It wouldn't do for Gibbs to ride his ass for making a rookie mistake.

"Sir, uh, I think I found something."

He moved to the video screen. The agent pointed to a grainy picture of a Town Car parked across the street from Ziva's building. The features of a dark man could be seen behind the wheel. Seconds later, Tony's car stopped in front of the building.

The dark man's gaze shifted away from the street as Tony stepped to the passenger side and Ziva emerged, wearing a black form fitting dress. At the door, she leaned forward and gave her partner a chaste kiss on the cheek before disappearing inside.

_Interesting_.

Fornell noted the time when Tony drove away - 12:15 am.. Late.

He smiled to himself. It appeared that members of his team were testing the boundaries of Gibbs rule number 11. Or, was it number 12? He frowned, suddenly unsure of where 'never date a co-worker' fell on the Gunney's list of do's and don'ts.

"The same car appears on every tape for a week."

The fact that Ziva, with all her training, had not picked up on the surveillance worried him. Despite whatever might be going on in her personal life, he had never know the former Mossad agent to be too distracted.

"Check the tapes from the week before. Keep checking until you don't see the car."

Twenty minutes later, Fornell was called back to the monitor.

"This was two weeks ago," the agent told him. "The evening of the first day the car appears."

Ziva crossed the street, her gun unobtrusively at her side as she approached the car. She was less than a foot away when the door opened and the black man emerged. They talked for a moment. When the man showed her something from his wallet, the NCIS agent nodded and holstered her weapon.

_He had a cover story and obviously a badge, or some other type of credentials that looked authentic because Ziva did not question him further. _

"Can you get a licence plate?"

"Angle's not right, sir."

He let out a sigh and nodded slightly. He should have expected as much. "Okay. Run the recognition software on the guy in the car. Maybe we'll get lucky and get a hit."

He remembered that Gibbs had run the same software when hunting for Ari. In the end, it had been a random fact from Ducky that had led to McGee being able to narrow the scope of the search and subsequent identification.

Unfortunately, this time he didn't have McGee to help.

* * *

_Tbc_


	9. Chance 2

**Chance 2**

_1 June, 2 pm_

Hank staggered back, his hands going to his face. Gibbs didn't give him time to recover. He slammed a fist into the man's stomach. When the black man doubled over, his breath exploding from his lungs, and exposing the holster at his back, Gibbs snatched the gun.

Hank's eyes promised murder as he slowly straightened his stance. Gibbs ignored it and, holding the weapon upright, released the safety.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

Pressing the firearm into the man's shoulder, he warned, "Next time I shoot. Now, where are they?"

"Not close." Hank hesitated then, in a tight voice, added, "But I can take you there."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed as he searched the man's face. "Where's Chuck?"

"I don't know. He said he had business."

He considered the response a moment then asked, "You have a phone?"

Hank nodded and, knowing better than to move, replied, "In my jacket. Inside pocket."

Gibbs drew the gun slightly back and motioned for the man to retrieve the device. His gaze moved from the man's face to his hand as it slid inside the jacket but he was too slow to reach for the phone when it came into view. Hank let it go, sending the device to the floor and shattering it into pieces.

Without warning, Gibbs retaliated instinctively. Still holding the gun, he pulled back and hit the man across the face. Then, before Hank could recover, he hit him again. Blood appeared above his incisors. A cut appeared on his lower lip. His smirk faded.

The NCIS Agent grabbed the dark man by the shirt and pushed him toward the door. "You're going to show me where Tony and Ziva are."

Then McGee and Abby, he thought.

He could see Tony and Ziva on the monitor. He knew their condition. He knew they were in bad shape but still alive. All he had of the other two were photos taken somewhere inside a hunting cabin. He had to believe they were safe or Chuck would have taunted him with something much more graphic.

They stepped into the sunlight and he squinted.

"Where's the car?"

"Mr Winslow took it."

_Of course he did. _

"You said you could take me to them," he growled. Shoving the man against the house, he wrapped one hand around his neck and used the other to push the gun against his jaw. "Did you lie to me?"

"No," he whispered. "It's only a mile or two from here. Forty minute hike, at the most."

He wondered if Hank was lying. He had always prided himself on his talent to read people and the reliability of his gut. But Chuck had hired a professional and, contrary to popular belief, the eyes can lie. Kate had discovered that truth a little too late – he wasn't about to do the same.

"Where exactly?"

"An abandoned barn southeast of here," he replied. "Rural. Secluded. No nosy neighbours."

The terrain was rougher than it looked. What should have taken forty minutes, took almost twice as long. Halfway there, he had Hank tear a length of cloth from his shirt and then used it as a gag. The last thing he needed was the man shouting a warning.

The barn was falling apart, the red paint peeling in vast swatches across the wood. Two men were smoking just outside, leaning comfortably against the door. No guns were visible but that didn't mean they weren't handy.

He also didn't see a car or van and hoped it meant that their vehicle was in the barn.

Despite his anxiousness to find his people, he retreated into the woods with his captive. His training dictated that he prepare. A good Marine always prepares before a mission.

He questioned Hank about the layout, about the men and about the guard schedule. After all, it would do him no good to disarm the men on duty only minutes before the next squad appeared. When he got his answers, he left Hank unconscious and tied under a brush.

There were no guards at the rear of the building. Hank had told him this was because there was no entrance or exit in the back, and Gibbs found the man had told the truth.

He had no time to stake out the place properly. There was no way to know when Chuck Winslow would return to the house and find him missing. So, even though his gut was telling him that this was a really bad idea, he decided to rely on the information Hank had given him and made his way forward.

The two men were still there, smoking when he came around the corner. Both looked startled to see him. He indicated with a finger to his lips for them to be quiet, his gun never wavering. Two minutes later he dragged the second unconscious body around the corner. There wasn't time to hide them.

He slipped through the door and found the remaining two guards. The first was sitting by a table. His hand was still around the can of coke his was about to drink when Gibbs snapped his neck. The second man was standing beside a shed, his back to Gibbs as he inspected the padlocks on two adjacent doors. When he turned, he was greeted by a bullet in the chest. As he fell, the keys he held dropped beside him.

_Come on, Gibbs. Move it._

First door opened with a creak Tony was curled against the wall, hand held close to his body.

"DiNozzo."

The man stirred and, kneeling beside him, Gibbs released a hesitant sigh of relief. When Tony's eyes opened and then slid shut again, though, the Marine felt his insides clench. Taking the younger man's face in his hand, he shook him gently and called his name. The only response he received was a slight moan.

His heart racing, Gibbs looked around the room for something to help revive his second in command. Not finding anything, he left the shed and hastily searched the outer area. When his gaze fell upon the can of Coke, he grabbed it and brought it back to the shed.

"Dinozzo, drink this. Come on," he ordered, "Take a sip."

Lethargically, the young man did as he was told. The sugar and caffeine filtered into his blood stream and, his eyes began to open. The can was held to his lips again and, as he took another swallow, he gazed at the man holding him. "Boss?"

"Are you about ready to get out of here?" he asked, with a faint smile.

"Ziva…"

"Let me worry about her," he said, helping the man to his feet. "You concentrate on getting to the door without falling."

Without another word, Gibbs moved into the adjacent cell. Like Tony, Ziva was huddled in a corner. Her breaths were shallow and there were bruises on her face and neck. He called her name and shook her gently; but she did not wake. Worried, but refusing to allow himself to dwell on her condition, he slid his arms below her and lifted the woman over his shoulder, into a fireman's carry.

Barefoot, Tony was leaning against the door to his cell, the Coke still in hand, when Gibbs appeared. He was staring at the scene as if he were trying to make sense of it all.

"DiNozzo! Move it!"

The command seemed to work. Tony stumbled after him. Gibbs lowered Ziva next to the table and reached for the dead guard. With quick sure hands he untied the knots on the man's shoes and holds them out to his Lead Agent.

"Are you able to put these on?"

Tony looked from the shoes to Gibbs and then at his hand. The fingers were swollen and twisted in different directions.

The image of the hammer smashing Tony's hand bombarded him. It was as vivid as if he had actually been in the room when it happened.

"Uhm, Boss, not so sure..."

"Don't worry bout it, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he quickly helped slide the shoes in place. "I got it."

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs contributed the soft voice to Tony's embarrassment at not being able to tie his own shoes and did not react. The fact that he seemed stronger and more aware was encouraging, considering there was no vehicle. They were going to have to walk. He just wished that Ziva would be so accommodating.

The woman still hasn't moved. She had a nasty laceration on her head and blood had congealed into a dark thick line. He didn't feel any broken bones but it was what he couldn't see that worried him. If she had internal bleeding, it could be aggravated by movement but he had no choice. He had to believe she was all right because it wasn't safe to sit and wait for help. They had to leave.

Damn. He glanced over his shoulder at the dead guards. He needed to find a phone or no one would find them. Ever.

Mentally berating himself, he quickly searched the two bodies. He found two automatics, a packet of cigarettes and matches. No phone. Damn.

He handed Tony one of the guns, then pocketed the rest of the items and moved outside to search the remaining guards.

No weapons. There were more cigarettes and a Zippo lighter that was shiny enough for his purpose but no phone. He frowned and glanced around the area. Chuck had phoned the men guarding Tony and Ziva.

_Ha__dn't he?_

There was no time to doubt himself. There had to be a phone here somewhere. He went back inside the barn. Camera equipment stood against the wall, but he knew there was no way that he could get any of it to work and send a message to headquarters. Beside, they had already spent far too much time in the barn. He couldn't risk staying any longer.

Confident in his decision to keep moving, he returned to his team. Tony stood protectively over Ziva, his good hand wrapped around the gun and the other cradled close to his chest.

"Can you walk?"

He saw DiNozzo nod and crouched beside Ziva. Once again sliding his arms beneath her, Gibbs lifted the woman to his shoulder.

"Good. It's time to get out of here."

* * *

_Tbc_


	10. Escape

_A/N: Wow, what can I say but thanks for the response. My beta is feeling up to the task again and my muse is all warm and fuzzy. ;-) And without further adieu..._

**Escape **

_1 June, 5 pm_

"McGee, come on. You have to do this."

"I…I can't, Abby. It hurts."

Even to his own ears he sounded like a spoiled child protesting a reasonable request from his parents. But he wasn't ten anymore and this was definitely not his safe family home. It was more like a nightmare he dearly wished he could wake up from.

"Special Agent McGee, what do think Gibbs would say if he could see you now?"

Her sudden firm tone made him flinch. Not wanting to disappoint an even invisible Gibbs, McGee pushed himself to a sitting position. At once, dizziness overtook him. He wanted to drop back down to the floor but instead closed his eyes and took deep even breaths.

"You okay?"

"No."

He felt Abby distance herself and was immediately sorry that he had been so abrupt. The truth was he was in pain and embarrassed that she had to take care of him. And, of course, there was also the fact that he knew what was coming next and scared him to death. Abby was seeing him at his worst.

Apologetically, he reached out and curled his hand around hers. In response, Abby gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Can you stand?"

_Don't think about it. Just do it._

He swallowed hard then nodded until he remembered that it was too dark for Abby to see him. He managed a quiet 'yes' and hoped he sounded braver than he felt. It didn't take a genius to know that any movement would result in sheer agony but he did not want to disappoint her. At the very least, he had to try.

He reminded himself that he had survived worse pain. Totalling his Z28 the same day he got it had been much worse. The accident had put him in traction for a month and then in a back brace for another six. Of course, he had been much younger then; and the hospital had been generous with pain meds.

Abby helped pull him upright.

_Sweet mother…_

Why couldn't he just pass out? The only thing better than being drugged up to his eyeballs with morphine and lying on a soft hospital bed with clean, crisp sheets would be the darkness of oblivion.

"That's it," Abby promised. "You're doing it, McGee! Just keep taking deep breaths."

Before he knew it, his hands were cramped around the fabric of her shirt. Abby was hugging him and whispering a variety of things that were meant to be reassuring.

Despite his obvious trembling, he felt her loop the rope around his chest and underneath his arms. He didn't want to let go of Abby. Just imagining the kind of pain that would shoot through him if he lost his balance and fell was all the incentive he needed to do whatever necessary to stay on his feet.

"It's really not that far, McGee," she told him calmly. "No more than ten feet, I promise."

_Ten feet?_

If he fell from that height, the pain he'd endured so far would feel like a prick of the finger in comparison.

"_God, how was he supposed to do this?_

"It'll be okay. You'll be at the top before you know it."

"Abby . . ."

"You can do this, McGee!" she insisted.

Swallowing his protests, he uh-huhed into her shoulder and stood quietly as she secured the rope. Everything inside of him, however, was screaming that this was a bad idea. He wasn't up to the climb, even if it was only ten feet.

_What was she thinking? He had acrophobia and a broken leg. How could she possibly expect him to scale a ten foot wall of rock? It wasn't like he was Gibbs – or Tony for that matter. __**They**__ could do this; not him._

"I'm going up, okay. Wait for me to pull on the rope before you try."

He wasn't sure if it was her voice or the feel of his fingers being pried from the edges of her shirt and set against the wall that made him focus. The rock was cold, rough and uneven – not as smooth as he expected. His fingernails scratched at the surface and, in the brief moment it took for them to slip into a crevice, his heart raced. As he recaptured his balance, his fingers curled around the rock. His grip was secure. Hesitantly, he shifted his stance and stared at the spot where his fingers disappeared into the rock. Could there really be enough of these handholds to support him in a climb?

"I don't know, Abs."

He wished he could see her. He could imagine her expressions well enough but it wasn't the same.

"You have to do this, Timothy. Please."

Logic screamed that her request was foolhardy and idiotic. His training in the field had taught him to stay in one place when injured. It was safer. Let others find you. But he knew he could never deny Abby.

Besides, it wasn't as if he had twisted his ankle while hiking. They had been kidnapped and forced to trek their way up to an abandoned mine where, after lowering Abby safely into a hole, he had been cruelly pushed to the bottom. His leg was broken but it could be worse. If the kidnapper returned, he could decide to hurt Abby, too, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

His grip tightened on the hand hold in the rock. It was time to ignore his pain and the voice in his head that was telling him he was making a mistake. He would trust his gut and trust Abby.

She tugged on the rope and he looked up in confusion, unable to remember her making the climb.

"Ready, McGee?"

He bit back the urge to say no, buckled up and reached upwards. His fingers searched for a hold for support as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his leg. Despite his best efforts, his broken leg scraped against the wall as he pulled himself up. The scream he released was guttural and unlike anything he'd ever heard escape his throat before. It felt as if a wave of knives and glass had washed over him, piercing through every nerve ending between his ankle and shoulder blades. Instinct made him pull himself closer to the wall. He hugged the rock, absorbing the cool surface as he waited for the white hot agony to fade.

He had no idea how long it took Abby's voice to penetrate the sound of pulsing blood in his ears but, when it did, it was filled with fear.

"McGee!"

He swallowed another scream as he shifted slightly. His hands were cramping. He had to move but had no idea how he was going manage answering her, let alone reaching up to search for a new handhold.

"McGee!"

"I'm okay, Abs," he managed, noting silently that his voice was trembling almost as violently as the muscles in his good leg.

"You're almost at the top," she promised. "It's just a little further."

_He was almost at the top_. That meant that he was at least a few feet from the ground yet, when he looked down, all he saw was darkness. He couldn't see the bottom. If his leg gave out and he fell ….

"McGee, don't look down!"

"Easy for you to say," he muttered.

"Then just close your eyes."

He hesitated then, taking a deep breath, did as he was told. "Okay, they're closed."

"Now reach for my hand."

He wanted to tell her that there was no way he was letting go of the wall and searching for her hand in the dark. He was very happy were he was, thank you very much. Instead, he pulled himself closer to the wall.

"Timothy McGee, you need to help me. Please."

Abby said please twice more before he sighed and slowly slid one hand from its nest in the rock. He reached upward and found another hand hold. Cramped, the fingers of that one hand held him in place while the other hand moved beside it.

He hung in that position for a moment then took a shuddered breath and held it as he pulled himself up. Another scream echoed through the mine.

_Tony would use sarcasm to spur himself on but he wasn't Tony. He had never been sarcastic and couldn't seem to find any jibes of his own to throw at the situation._

He had to pull himself up two more times before he found the edge of the hole. Abby grabbed him by his T-shirt and brought him onto solid ground. He lay very still until his breaths were not as quick and the tremors were not as violent.

When he thought he had enough command of his voice, he murmured, "That was … more … than … ten feet."

He didn't know if it was real, or if he was imagining it, but he heard her smile. "My mistake."

Before he could formulate a response, a chill sliced through him. Nausea surfaced and twisted itself around his gut, forcing the trembling to return. He felt a cool hand on his forehead.

"You have a fever, McGee."

_No kidding._

It felt as if he were sitting in a sauna with the dial set too high. Abby moved again. He could feel her touch his leg but he was too tired and in too much pain to ask her what she was doing.

"You're bleeding again," she said softly.

He nodded, though he never lifted his head. He had felt the blood dripping down his leg about halfway up the wall.

It seemed to take forever but Abby had his leg bandaged up with torn strips of his t-shirt. The rock was cool against his back and the agony that was there was now ebbing. He wondered if that was a good thing or not right before he passed out again.

* * *

_Tbc_


	11. Searching

_Thank you for all the great reviews. This chapt is dedicated to all the hard working beta's out there. Also, thank you to Imagine for your hard work in making this sooo much better._

**Searching**

_1 June, 5 pm_

They had been making their way through the woods for about twenty minutes when they found the stream. He had left Tony with Ziva as he had double backed and then proceeded to leave a false trail for Winslow's men to follow. It had taken him about an hour before he made his way back to his agents, all the while aware that even though it was a necessity, he was losing valuable time.

At least Tony looked a lot more aware when he entered the small clearing. His agent had found an old coke bottle somewhere and had it filled with water. He could see the thin lines of pain on his 2IC's facial features.

He gathered some sturdy looking sticks and then proceeded to bind Tony's fingers as best he could with the rudimentary field training all marines received. Tony stayed quiet through it all only re-enforcing Gibbs' point of view that his agent was in serious pain.

He checked Ziva over again, noticing the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the pallor of her skin against the dark blue-black of bruises and blood. Using a piece of his shirt and some water from the bottle, he cleaned her as best he could while assessing her injuries.

He was just checking her ribs when she gave a low moan. Tony was quietly calling her name. She turned her head and then opened her eyes. He could see the confusion in her eyes as she tried to asses her situation.

"Gibbs?" Ziva questioned and then seemed more awake as she struggled to sit up. She looked at him with blurry eyes. "What happened?"

He stroked her forehead with his free hand – a fatherly gesture he usually reserved for Abby. "Do you remember anything?"

Confused brown eyes met his and then she suddenly swallowed. "I remember."

He nodded, hoping that she wouldn't see the guilt in his eyes. "Think you can walk?"

Ziva visible gathered herself and then gave a short nod. Thirty minutes later they slowly started to make their way south.

_1 June, 7 pm_

They stopped short of stepping out the woods. Gibbs stared at the small, dark cottage. He could see movement behind the net curtains. It looked like a single female. Despite that the whole scene in front of him seemed non-threatening, his gut was screaming at him to bypass the house and continue further into the woods until they found a tarred road or town.

"Boss?"

He turned his attention to Tony, eyeing Ziva's seated form against the tree. Gibbs knew that at the very least, the Mossad agent had a concussion and at least two cracked ribs. She had stoically kept up with them but he had seen the grimaces and stumbles she had tried to hide. He couldn't push her much further without serious medical consequences.

She needed to be in hospital.

He eyed the cottage before him again. There was no sign of Chuck Winslow or his men. No sign that this wasn't anything but someone's summer cottage. But his gut clenched tight. Abruptly he made his decision.

"We're leaving."

He felt proud when his two agents didn't question his decision and quietly followed him away from the house.

_1 June, 9 pm_

They were lost. McGee didn't need GPS or a sign flashing to let him know. He just knew, knew it with the same certainty he used when he said his leg was broken. He was leaning against the wall, feeling the rough edges of the stone cut into his back. He didn't mind because he was trying his best not to panic.

After he had regained consciousness, they had slowly started to make their way away from pit. His left arm was tight around Abby's shoulders and he tried his best not to lean too much on her. His right hand was tight against the wall as they hop-stepped their way forward. They had stopped as soon as they had come across the first passage, briefly arguing about which way to go.

His leg was numb and weird pins and needles had replaced the rolling waves of agony. He didn't want to think about what the change meant or the possibility that he might just lose his leg.

At least it allowed him to move; even if it was at a pace so slow a crawling baby would have no trouble beating him.

They had decided to go straight, crossing the channel in the dark until his searching fingers found the wall again. When they discovered they'd reached a dead end, they had slowly – and painfully - made their way back to the crossroads then took the passage on the left. Their trek had continued like that until the map in his mind was so jumbled and confused that he had no idea whether they were closer to the surface or further away.

"Ready to go?" Abby asked, her voice strained even though she tried to sound chirpy. He knew that her analytical mind had already stepped through all the scenarios.

She had to know that bar a miracle, they were likely to continue to wander the tunnels until he either couldn't move anymore or until they fell into another shaft, ending their current situation rather abruptly.

Abruptly and painfully.

That's how he had felt after being pushed into the pit by the gunman. The fall ended so abruptly when he hit the floor, he hadn't had time to be frightened. Instead he had been overwhelmed by the sudden stop and immense pain. There had bee no convenient immediate passing out that usually happens to the characters in the movies or his books. There had just been agony and, now, even that was gone.

_God please. He didn't want to walk around with just one leg. _

"McGee."

He heard the whine in Abby's voice. Knew he had faded out again. It was happening more and more as his fever rose and fell. Right now he was feeling chilled. He shivered, hugging himself in an effort to get warm again while Abby's hand felt cool against his forehead.

"Your fever is high again, McGee."

He sighed and then stood away from the wall. Abby's hand went automatically around his waist, his own around her shoulders.

"Left or right?"

He was tired of thinking, tired of trying to keep the twisted tunnels in the right places in his mind. He almost didn't care anymore.

"You choose."

They went right. Abby said something about right of way, and right on their side and something or other right. He wasn't listening anymore to her babbling, knowing it was her way of keeping her own panic at bay.

He concentrated on staying upright and silently prayed that a miracle would occur. They needed one if they had any hope of finding their way out of the maze of tunnels before one of them died.


	12. Found

_A/N Sorry for the wait but real life intruded in terms of work. Girl gotta eat...;-) _

_And, as always, thank you to my great beta Imagine who did such a good job on this._

**Found**

_2 June, 5 am_

They had holed up for the night in a small clearing, not too far from the small tributary of the stream he had left Tony and Ziva earlier.

There was no sign of Chuck Winslow or his men, which could be either good or bad. It could mean that Chuck had lost his trail and were trying to find it; or it could mean that his men were stationed at the various exit points of the woods, waiting for them. It was the latter that Gibbs knew was more in line with Chuck's method of thinking. The man had always gone for the easier option when they had been kids.

He glanced at Ziva. She tried to suppress a shiver before meeting his eyes but was unsuccessful. Embarrassed, she looked away but he did not. He watched her, suddenly remembering Ari and the night she had to choose between them. Something deep inside had made him trust her, despite the fact that Ari was her brother, and she had saved his life.

He had trusted her just as she was putting her trust in him now. It was in her eyes. It was in the way she and Tony steadfastly and silently followed him through the woods, passing the only house that might offer refuge. Their questions may have been unspoken but he had heard them.

A twig snapped, loud in the ensuing stillness of the clearing. He quietly rose to his full height, Ziva following him with her eyes. Tony's grip on his gun tightened, determination centred as he stood. He motioned for DiNozzo to stay with Ziva and slipped into the underbrush.

He moved stealthily. Nothing stirred. He was a ghost, gliding through forest. Three hundred meters out he found the broken twig and a big fat footprint, imbedded in the ground.

His head came up as he realised he wasn't alone. Sensing the body behind him, he spun and dropped, his gun already lining up with a target. The weapon bucked in his hand and a moment later, the man died with a surprised expression on his face.

Gibbs stood, knowing that the sound of the gunshot was still echoing around him. Chuck's men now knew where to find them.

He heard Ziva scream.

A gunshot echoed.

He ran for the clearing.

* * *

_2 June, 5 am_

Ducky took off his glasses, wiped his tired eyes and returned the spectacles to the bridge of his nose. Unfortunately, it didn't make a difference. The words continued swimming in front of him, out of focus. He leaned back into his chair and allowed the folder to slip to the ground.

"Ducky, are you all right?"

Ducky sighed, opened his eyes and glared at the younger man. "What do you think, Mr Palmer?"

"I'm sorry, sir. You...you look tired?"

"Of course I'm tired," Ducky snapped. His usual taciturn nature was overpowered by his fear and anxiety for Gibbs and his team. He understood the implications of the amount of time they had been missing. If it were anyone but Gibbs, he would let himself believe that, in all likelihood, they were dead.

Palmer nodded and silently turned his away. Immediately, Ducky regretted his outburst. He leaned forward, picked up the discarded folder and held it out to his assistant. "I'm sorry, Mr Palmer. My eyes seem to be acting up again. Do you mind..."

Palmer gave him a tentative smile before taking the file. As he started to read, the door to the conference room opened. Ducky stood, his gut churning as Director Vance and Fornell entered, closing the door ominously behind them.

"Any news?"

"I'm sorry, Ducky. Nothing yet."

Deflated, the doctor slid back into his chair. The more time that passed, the less their chances of finding any members of the team.

* * *

_2 June, 5:15 am_

Despite their situation, he fell asleep then woke with a start, blinked and stared into the darkness. After a few seconds, he closed his eyes again only to open them again, finally realising what was different.

He could actually see a faint outline of the walls of the tunnel.

Abby shifted, her head cradled on his shoulder, her arm draped heavily across his stomach.

He whispered her name and gently patted her arm as he pulled himself into a sitting position. She moved slightly but didn't wake up. Feeling guilty, he used a slightly louder voice and called to her again. Startled, the woman sat up straight in response.

"What time is it?" It came out all jumbled as Abby wiped sleep from her eyes.

"Morning," he replied.

"Are you sure? The last time I checked..." she trailed off and glanced around them. "Oh."

She looked down at her hand. He watched her make a fist, extend the fingers and turn it to look at her palm. He smiled.

"I can see, McGee."

"I know, Abs."

And there it was: A hug. All enveloping and smothering, while jarring his leg into discomfort, but he didn't mind in the least. They both stank of sweat and blood and probably bat pooh, but it was the most refreshing thing he had felt in a long while.

And then, as suddenly as her arms had wrapped around him, she was gone. Leaving a faint, "I'll be right back," echoing around him, she disappeared into the fading darkness.

For this first time since they'd been taken hostage, he felt hope. It was like someone had flipped a switch inside of him. Suddenly, he knew that they were going to be okay. They were going to get out of here.

The feeling grew even stronger when Abby came back, telling him that she had found a tunnel leading out.

* * *

tbc


	13. Skunk and Ivy

_As always, a great big thanks to Imagine for making this so much better. Workload is better, so I'm gunning again for a chapt a week. ;-)_

**Skunk and Ivy**

_2 June, 5:30 am_

Gibbs entered the clearing at a dead run. His heart was pumping and his breaths harsh in the early morning air. Then, just as quickly, he came to a halt, his mind trying to make sense of the scene in front of him.

Ziva was sprawled on her back, her face twisted in revulsion. Tony had an arm over his nose while his gun was still pointed at the body of the skunk.

The dusky, oily smell finally hit his senses and Gibbs took a step back while he tried to come up with the correct response to what he was seeing.

"Not my fault, Boss."

He gave Tony the 'Stare'.

"Really not, Boss. It came out of nowhere and it kinda seemed to go for Ziva..."

"You could've killed him before he did the spray thingy, Tony."

"How was I to know it was gunning for you, _Zeeeva._ It's not as if I can speak squirrel, you know."

"It's a skunk, DiNozzo."

"I know that, Boss," he replied sheepishly. "I was making a movie reference to The Emperor's New Groove."

Gibbs gave him another stare. Giving the younger man a head slap wasn't worth stepping closer to the scent to do so. Even from where he stood, it was overpowering and his team was standing practically on top of the source. Their clothes, their hair, their skin would be permeated with the stench. He didn't like it but he had no choice. There wasn't much that would get rid of the smell and all of the necessary ingredients he could think of were household items.

That meant going back to the house they had skirted earlier.

That meant exposure.

He gave a small sigh and indicated to Tony and Ziva to follow him. Silently, he retraced his steps to the cabin due west of their current position as he considered the risk they were taking. He knew he had no choice. He had to get his team cleaned up but it didn't change the fact that he didn't like their odds.

**0oooooo0ooooo0**

_2 June, 5:45 am_

The exit was set up high, camouflaged by brush, bird and bats pooh and poison ivy.

_Figures._

McGee knew the colour, shape and size of the leaves. He knew most of the mnemonic rhymes. But it still didn't help him one bit.

Oh, Abby had made it there and back with no problem; but he was pretty sure that the moment he stepped through, the poison ivy would be gunning for him. No doubt about it.

Somehow, he didn't mind his broken leg so much anymore or the fact that a gunman might be waiting for them at the lodge. Not that he'd go back there any time soon.

No. From this point on, his nightmares would revolve on the green leaves lying in wait.

"You can do it, McGee. I promise that you can get through without any of them even coming near you."

He gave Abby his best impression of the 'Gibbs Stare' but she didn't even flinch.

"No choice, Mister. You're going, even if I have to drag you. Not that you're overweight or anything - which you're not by the way - but I'm tired and hungry and I want to go home. I'm not leaving you behind."

"Are you implying that I'm supposed to lose weight?"

"Oh, no. No. You're just the right size for big teddy bear hugs," she smiled excitedly.

He had no idea how to answer to that statement or if he should feel slightly offended. In any case, he was too tired to weigh the options. Besides, he liked Abby's hugs.

He eyed the green leaves again. They grinned back malevolently. He was pretty sure of it. It wasn't his imagination. The sun hit them just right to make it appear they were winking at him. McGee shivered and, involuntarily, scratched his arm in response. He was pretty sure that he was already breaking out. When he looked at his arm, though, it was still dirty, still white and there were no sign of redness or swelling.

"McGee!"

He sighed. There was no going around it.

"Fine, but if I break out, you're rubbing on the baking soda."

"Scouts honour."

**0oooooo0ooooo0**

_2 June, 7:30 am_

He left them in thick underbrush not too far from the house while he moved closer. His eyes darted everywhere. The woods were alive with birds and cicadas. Even in the early morning hours, the heat was oppressive and humid. By the time he made it to the porch, his shirt was drenched in sweat and clinging to him like a second skin.

It was a tiny house, not much more than a living, bedroom and kitchen. Front and back door. The windows were all closed, giving the place a desolate look. He didn't like it at all.

Lowered to his haunches, he continued to scrutinize the house and wondered if he, Ziva and Tony shouldn't just head for a major road. Just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. No one in their right mind would pick them up with his co-workers smelling the way they did.

When there was no movement inside and no indication of another living person within miles, he quietly made his way towards the back of the house. He tried the door. No shouts of alarm sounded but it was locked.

He peered through the window at the kitchen. The cupboards were closed, no sign of dirty dishes in the sink or on the table. The hall at the front lead to a sitting room, couches covered with sheets. Dust gathered everywhere.

Eyeing the surrounding brush he made his way towards the front of the house. A short search later, he found an ornamental rock that seemed out of place. Beneath it was the key.

The door opened silently. He stood in the threshold for a long moment, listening for sounds of life before closing the door and making his way across the room. The bedroom was empty except for a big double bed and held a bare and worn looking mattress.

He found what he was looking for under the kitchen sink.

**0oooooo0ooooo0**

_2 June, 9:30 am_

Ducky woke with a start when the door opened. Despite his best intentions, he had fallen into a deep, albeit restless, sleep. He blinked against the pull that threatened to send him back to the unconscious world.

"Dr. Mallard?"

Director Vance's voice finally penetrated the haze that seemed to permeate his whole body. He pushed himself upwards while apologizing for his tardiness. Vance gave him an understanding look, waiting patiently while Ducky sorted himself out.

"We have a helicopter standing by, Ducky."

For a moment confusion reigned. "Sorry but I'm not going anywhere without knowing what has happened to Jethro and his team."

"Oh, I thought you heard."

"Heard what exactly, Director?"

"We've found Mss Scutio and special agent McGee."

"Abby and Timothy?" he repeated excitedly. "Are they all right?"

"Why don't you and I go find out? The helicopter is waiting," he smiled.

**0oooooo0ooooo0**

tbc


	14. Rescued

_As always, thanks to Imagine for making this so much better. ;-)_

**Rescued**

_2 June, 12:30 am_

Ducky had never liked waiting rooms. It was usually the same drab furniture, the same grief etched into walls. Mr. Palmer was staring at a fishing magazine, fingering the pages even though the doctor was confident that his assistant had not read one letter of the article. The director had left about ten minutes earlier, an apologetic smile on his face when his cell had pierced the stillness of the room with a load vibrating sound.

Frustrated, he sighed then decided he had played the role of patient relative long enough. As he stood up, Dr Mason entered the room.

"Ah, Dr Mallard."

"Ducky would suffice."

"Ducky, yes. Everything went fine. Ms Scuito should be able to go home after her drip is done. Make sure she drinks enough fluids. There shouldn't be any long term effect on her dehydration. We also bandaged up some of her scrapes."

"That is good news on Abigail. What about Timothy?"

"Ah, agent McGee. A little bit more serious, I'm afraid. He broke both his tibia and fibula. How he had been able to walk so far is a miracle in itself. We set the bones and closed the wound. The blood loss, in conjunction with the dehydration, didn't do him any good. He's stable for now. His temperature is elevated, indicative of an infection. I'm waiting on his blood work to decide what antibiotics to prescribe."

Ducky nodded in agreement, satisfied that the doctor was looking well after his colleagues. He was about to ask if he could see them when Fornell poked his head in the door, smiled and entered. Dr Mason half turned to the FBI agent.

"Good news, Duck?"

"Under the circumstances, yes, I would say so, agent Fornell."

"Good good. So, Dr Mason, when can I see them?"

"Well, there's no reason why you can't see Ms Scuito. As long as you keep it brief. Agent McGee is still groggy from surgery, however, so I would prefer that you wait until tomorrow to talk with him."

Fornell nodded his head in agreement but Ducky knew enough to know that the FBI agent would speak to Timothy long before the doctor advised it. He would make sure that he was there though, so that as soon as Timothy tired, he could send Fornell on his way.

**o0000000000o**

_2 June, 12:45 am_

He had no idea how she did it. It had been barely 2 hours since she and McGee had arrived at the hospital. While she was sedately pushed through the halls, Agent McGee had been rushed through with doctors clambering for x-rays and blood work. Still, somehow Abby, Gibbs' favourite surrogate daughter, had managed to get herself some appropriate nightwear. Seeing her clad in skull-themed pyjamas, Fornel gave a half smile as he softly entered her room.

She looked asleep but as soon as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed, her eyes opened, eyes dark against the whiteness of the pillow. She gave him a smile but even he could see it was forced. Her eyes strayed towards the door.

"Where's Gibbs?"

He controlled a flutter of unease, walked around the bed and seated himself on the visitor's chair. It was covered in a dull maroon mat fabric, which, he was sure, was leaving hair on his suit. Abby sat up straighter. He could see the fear on her face when she glanced at him and back at the empty doorway.

"Where's Gibbs?" she repeated, this time more forceful.

He sighed. Sometimes, just sometimes, he hated his job. He met her eyes. "I was hoping you could tell me."

**o0000000000o**

_2 June, 14:00 pm_

He had nothing to go on except that Ziva's stalker had been the guy that had initially held Abby and McGee captive. After a brief conversation with the agent on site at McGee's cabin - with no bad guys patiently waiting to be caught - he had spoken with McGee.

The probie had nothing to add to Abby's report. After a warning glance from Dr Mallard, he had left, wondering how the hell he was going to get Gibbs and the rest of his team back.

His phone interrupted his morose thoughts as he made his way towards the car park. Glancing down at the private number display before answering, he jingled his keys in his pocket.

"Fornell."

The voice, distorted and broken by static, caught his attention immediately. He listened intently and, though he quickly reprimanded himself, entertained the thought that the connection was so bad it could be coming from beyond the grave. Then, just like that, the call ended without allowing him to add one word or ask one question.

He sighed and slid the phone into his pocket. The words had been garbled and there had been few words he could make out, but he was pretty sure of two things.

It had been Gibbs.

And Tony had been shot.

**o0000000000o**

_2 June, 14:15 pm_

Despite the fact that his technical people were telling him that there was no way in hell that they could trace the call, he was pretty sure that McGee could find a way. But agent McGee was in a hospital, with a rising temperature. The man was half delirious and in no shape to offer any assistance.

He was about to admit defeat when the door to the boardroom opened. He turned and watched as Abby entered, still clad in her skull pyjamas, with big fluffy bunny slippers.

"I heard that Gibbs called and that he said something about Tony being shot."

He frowned and averted his eyes momentarily.

"It's not true. Gibbs is there. He wouldn't let what happened to Kate happen to Tony," she insisted. Looking at him with big brown eyes, she tried to will him into saying what she wanted to hear. When he was silent, she released a shuddered breath. "Please tell me it isn't true, because I can't take another Kate."

"I'm sure they're fine, Abby."

It was a lie and they both knew but somehow it seemed to garner Abby into action.

"Where are they?"

He sighed and shook his head. "The call was untraceable."

"Nonsense. Give me the phone." When he hesitated, she continued forcefully, "I'm good at what I do, Fornell. I promise you that I will find out where that call came from even if I have to hack every server from here to Timbuktu. Not really all the way, but you get what I mean."

He gave her his phone without comment then smothered a half-smile as she turned abruptly and marched out the door.

He didn't have McGee.

But he did have Abby.

Maybe that would be enough to find his friend and the other two missing members of Gibbs' team.

**o0000000000o**

tbc


	15. Overcome

_Once again, thanks to Imagine for her great work. _

**Overcome**

_2 June, 14:15 am_

He had watched people die before. He had been close enough to taste blood, hear the bullet as it made impact, and feel the disturbance in the air as subsequent shots were fired. He had watched Kate's blood splatter across Tony's face. He remembered the futility of it all and the overpowering guilt, knowing that she had died because Ari had wanted to punish him.

Like Tony was doing now because of Chuck.

_God, no. Not again. Not if I can help it._

He threw himself forward. A foot slammed into his back, breaking a rib. The pain was so much static, on the edge, distant as he focused on the scene in front of him. So horribly clear. The front of Tony's shirt was soaking in blood. The ground beneath him coloured a dark russet red. Ziva draped over him in an effort to protect her partner.

But it was too late. Too damn late.

He tried to rise again, ashes of defeat heavy in his mouth. This time a knee slammed down on his back and a hand slammed his face into the dirt. He tasted grit, spat out mouthfuls of earth. Felt skin on his cheek scrape away as he continued to fight, trying to crawl his way from underneath the men trying to hold him in place. He was enough of a dirty fighter to manage another few feet before a gun barrel slammed into his skull, momentarily stunning him.

He felt the cuffs close around his wrists. Only then did they pull him onto his knees. He blinked against the threatening darkness, felt blood start to drip down the side of his face. Saw Ziva as she was dragged from Tony's body.

He looked up as Chuck Winslow stepped in front of him.

"Hello again, Leroy."

He glared back.

Chuck gave a dangerous grin, hefted the gun in his hand and, in the moment before it made contact with his cheek; Gibbs recognized the firearm as his. He rode the pain as best he could, but it wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

Then...nothing.

**o0000000000o**

_2 June, 15:00 am_

Pain.

Tony woke with a scream barely suppressed. For a brief moment confusing images of guns and men and Gibbs on the ground screaming into a phone bombarded his brain. Agony ripped through his body and he opened his eyes. He looked up at rough-hewed rafters, spider nests and the bruised, strained face of Ziva.

"Hi."

His voice was barely a whisper and yet it sparked a surge of agony. He couldn't help the grimace. He lifted his sound hand, careful to keep his other mangled hand close to his body.

"Guess we're back to the second third of the movie where the bad guys are winning."

If he hadn't been in so much pain, the look that Ziva gave him would have made him laugh. Instead, he managed what he hoped appeared to be a sly grin. When she shook her head and frowned, he knew he had failed.

"You have been shot, Tony."

"No kidding."

He couldn't help his reply. His sarcasm was strongest when he was hurt – or accused of murder. Somehow it always helped, though he was sure that any psychiatrist worth his weight would have a field day with the reasons why.

"Where's Gibbs?"

"I do not know. They have taken him somewhere else. Perhaps back to the house, yes."

He managed a nod. It seemed the most likely outcome.

"So, I suppose overpowering the bad guys with a paper clip is out of the question," he sighed.

"I am sorry, Tony. I do not have a paperclip."

Even though he had been joking, Ziva had been serious with her response. He suddenly wondered how many skills his partner had hidden away.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He heard scuffling sounds and indicated to Ziva that he wanted to sit up. She helped him and he nearly regretted his decision.

Agony.

Pure agony.

Tony was afraid to look down but when he did, he found the tattered bloody ruin of his shirt. The bullet had grooved out what looked like a decent amount of flesh across his ribcage. He had been lucky. It could have very easily been a kill shot.

"What are they doing with that camera, Tony?"

Instead of responding right away, he watched as one of the guards finished setting up the equipment. The fingers of his mangled hand began throbbing as he remembered the last time he had been put in front of the camera.

Keeping his eyes on the guard, he told her, "It's a good guess that they're not putting them up for a quick round of Jeopardy."

**o0000000000o**

_2 June, 18:00 am_

Gibbs had known many emotions throughout his life. Even though he had never been overly expressive, it didn't mean he didn't feel them deeply. When he had been told of Shannon and Kelly's deaths, his emotions had come close to destroying him completely. Grief, anger, and despair attached themselves to him for so long, he still wasn't sure they were completely gone. There were times when they poked him, reminded him of his loss, of how deep his thirst for revenge had been, and of out he had quenched it. He had been desperate – desperate to keep his sanity intact and desperate to find a reason to live again.

He had found that reason at NCIS. He liked being a cop. The job offered him the chance to catch the bad guys, the opportunity to bring justice to those who needed it, and to hopefully keep others from feeling the same kind of pain he had felt.

But most of all, NCIS had given him a family again. His team meant more to him that he could express in words and the thought of losing them was unimaginable. He would do anything to protect them and himself from that kind of pain. If he had to, he would die for his team and Chuck Winslow knew it.

_God, this was stupid._

"Do I still have your attention, Leroy?"

He grunted an answer. His head was throbbing in unison with his ribs. He lay on the ground in the same room he had escaped from, Hank leaning over him.

He had lost track of time. He only knew that it was getting dark and that Chuck was not through with him yet. The only thing that gave him some hope was that, though his knuckles were bleeding, he had managed to bring one of his captors down for the count. No one came back from a broken neck.

"This is your fault, you know that."

He looked up and met his nemesis' eyes. Chuck grinned maliciously, lifted the walky-talky in his hand and said, "Again."

Hank curled fingers into Gibbs' hair and forced the man to face the TV set. He watched, unwillingly, as one of Chuck's men pushed a burning cigarette onto Tony's chest. The Agent could only groan in response, his bruised body already slick with sweat and blood. Ziva was curled into a ball on the floor, valiantly trying to protect herself. But her breathing was harsh and laboured. Gibbs didn't want to think about internal injuries and what he had seen a boot do to a body before.

Still he didn't let it show what hurting his people was doing to him inside. How it was eating him up knowing that he couldn't do anything to stop their pain. He was getting old. He should have anticipated the setup at the house. He should have realised that Chuck would have someone wait for them.

Chuck was right. All of this was his fault. He should have known better but he couldn't take the time to dwell on what couldn't be changed. He had done that when Kelly and Shannon were killed – refused to accept that he hadn't been able to stop it – and nearly destroyed himself. If Tony and Ziva had any chance of making it out of this alive, he had to force himself to move forward. He had to find a way to take control of the situation.

"This is getting us nowhere. He's not gonna break." Hank said suddenly. Releasing him, he stepped around Gibbs and glared at him. "Look at him. He isn't even reacting."

"I think you're right there, Hank. My old friend needs more incentive." With his gaze trained on Gibbs, Chuck took out his cell phone and dialled a number. A moment later he said, "Kill the Goth."

The reaction was instinctual. He threw himself at Chuck. His throat tightened and he must've screamed no or stop because by the time Hank and two other men had him on the ground, immobilized, the word was still burning in the back of his throat.

Chuck put the phone on speaker and he could hear McGee in the background, protesting.

And then he went cold and very, very still.

The bullet entered the chamber and he heard Abby's intake of breath.

His heart was racing, his blood pumping furiously in his ears. He closed his eyes.

_Think strategy. You can grieve later. There is nothing you can do to save her If you give in, you'll lose Tony and Ziva, too.._

He went numb when the gunshot sounded, echoing from the phone into his head.

Despite his military training, despite the fact that he should have remembered how it had felt with Kate and Shannon and Kelly and so many others - he was still not prepared for the wave of anguish that rose from nowhere and paralyzed his thoughts and plans. He swallowed a scream that was clawing at the back of his throat. He buried his face into the wood floor and tried to stop the tears from escaping but it was too much.

_Abby, I'm sorry._

He didn't want Chuck and his men to see his grief; didn't want something so private to be observed. When Chuck crouched beside him, he wanted nothing more than to put his hands around the man's neck and strangle him until he felt life leave Chuck's body.

Instead, he found a place in his brain that made himself calm down. He allowed a little of the torment to show and then let himself go limp.

"I know you better, Leroy."

He looked up, his eyes burning a hole in Chuck's. "No. If you knew me, you would not have … you would have known better."

"Empty threats, again, Leroy?" The other man laughed quietly and then shook his head as if disappointed. "Maybe I should send one of my men to fetch your father as replacement for the Goth."

When Gibbs didn't reply, Chuck rose and motioned for his men to let him up. They followed the unspoken command but, a moment later, Gibbs was again turned toward the TV.

Chuck lifted the walky-talky in his hand and said, "Again."

**o0000000000o**

tbc


	16. Broken

_Thanks to Imagine for her great work. Also to all those reading this story and had put in on favorites and alerts as well as all the reviewers - a huge thanks. I'd originally planned on posting this on Friday, but family is coming to visit and there won't be time to upload then, so...without further adiue_

**Broken**

_3June, 3:00 am_

When Ziva opened her eyes she knew things had gone from bad to worse in a very short space of time. She felt disconnected from her body. Something inside of her grated at her in ways it never had before. She closed her eyes again and the memories of Somalia surfaced, too fresh to ignore.

_"Ziva, you are a David. You are strong and I made it so."_

Her father's voice seemed real. He was watching her. Ordering her to do something, but she had no idea what. She couldn't think...

...she woke. Somehow, somewhere she had missed something. It was getting dark. Shadows were surrounding her. She concentrated on her body - tried moving her toes then realised her mistake.

She caught her breath and noticed the fist and boot-sized bruises that covered her body. This wasn't the first time she had been here in this position.

_Stay still. Don't move and the cramps won't be so bad._ _Don't think about Saleem and what he did. You are stronger than this._

When she opened her eyes again, it was too dark to see anything, even the shadows. For a brief moment she was back in the hole. Saleem was grinning down at her before closing the hatch. Her fear of small dark places had been discovered early by her captors and he had taken advantage every chance he could.

Shaking away the image, she forgot about laying still. A second later, her muscles locked and the last thing she heard was the sound of her own scream echoing back to her.

...woke again. Sobbed in relief when she realised the cramps were gone then froze when she heard someone working the lock on the door. A minute later she was dragged outside and left to curl up in front of the camera. Hands pawed at her shirt and she retaliated, the instructions from her father coming back to her.

_"Use what you have. Sometimes a finger to an eye would be enough to get an advantage. Don't let them see that you're hurting. You are strong. They will underestimate you because you're a woman._"

She felt someone's fingers snap and heard a scream that was not hers. Her next attacker staggered back - his hands covering his face while he released a string of obscenities.

_Not going out like this. _

"Get her."

"You do it."

She smiled at them and it seemed to make them hesitate. The two men glanced at each other, one holding his broken fingers close to his chest while the other man tentatively touched the already swollen eye.

She heard the footsteps behind her a little too late ...

_"You never talk about it."_

The side of her face slapped the floor. When she tried to fight back, darkness edged her towards unconsciousness and she was violently turned back on her stomach.

_"What is there to talk about?"_

She was back in Somalia. Back in that little room with Saleem standing over her.

_"Come on, Ziva."_

Hands grabbed at her again. She retaliated, anger fuelling her failing strength. Not today. She was not a victim.

_"What Saleem did was bad enough, becoming like him would be worse."_

She fought with everything within her. Cold hard determination drove her until one of them had enough...

She curled into a tight ball, her hands over her head as fists and boots struck her with dull thuds...each one a distant explosion of nova white pain. Suddenly faces appear. Memories. Smiles.

Gibbs.

Tony.

McGee.

Abby.

All of them there.

She was not in Somalia. Her family had come back. They had saved her when even she had given up.

Before she could take comfort from the realization, something connected with her head. Stars exploded. Her body went lax and the beating finally stopped. She could hear their harsh breathing, felt one of them kneel beside her body. Felt fingers against her throat and then a loud heartfelt obscenity.

She had no strength inside her anymore to move.

She heard a distant growl, "What the hell did you do?"

A moment later she was unconscious.

**o0000000000o**

_3June, 7:00 am_

Losing Abby was not something he was going to allow himself to accept. The more he thought about it, the more he tried to convince himself that the sounds he'd heard were a lie. Chuck was playing with his mind. He was closer to Abby than he was anyone else on the team. Taking her life – first – would make no sense. She was the bargaining chip with the greatest value.

Unfortunately, though he could convince himself that Chuck had lied about Abby, he could not do the same when it came to Ziva. Watching her, and her barely concealed desperation, as she was dragged in front of the camera had brought him to the brink. He knew what she had not told him about Somalia. She didn't have to tell him. He knew what men get up to when they have female prisoners.

He fought to get to her even though he knew that she was too far away for him to protect. And then just like that, it was over. Her body still, blood dripping down from a split eyebrow, eyes closed, breathing wet and laboured.

He was on his knees, hands cuffed with Hank's fingers digging into his shoulders. Chuck tilted his head, eyes scrutinizing his body. For the first time he stiffened when the other man brought the walky-talky to his mouth and it brought pause to what Chuck was about to say. He put the communication device on the table and made his way over to Gibbs.

"Tell Joe to take a look at her. I don't want her dead yet."

"What about him," Hank asked.

"I don't think Leroy is going to be a problem. Are you, Leroy?"

"No."

Chuck smiled. "Good. I knew you'd finally see it my way. It is a pity that it took you this long, though. Chalk it up to your family's stubbornness."

Gibbs didn't reply. It was superfluous in any case. A moment later he heard Hank give quiet directions to someone over the phone. His eyes didn't leave the TV screen where Ziva lay unconscious. Somehow it just seemed to emphasize how vulnerable she really was underneath all her strength.

"You still have a lot of work to do. And you missed a whole day because of your escape attempt. Are you ready to begin again?"

"Yes."

Short. Clipped. He had no strength left for more.

A moment later the TV set went dark as the camera was shut off. The cuffs were released and he allowed himself to be led to the table where the blue prints lay. They left him there and only when the lines on the prints became blurred did he sit down.

He did exactly what they wanted him to do.

He planned his next kill.

**o0000000000o**

tbc


	17. Abby explains

_Thanks to Imagine for all her help. Without her this chapt would've been a very thin indeed. ;-)_

_And thanks to everyone who put this on alert and fav as well as all those who reviewed. _

**Abby explains**

_3 June, 7:00 am_

The moment he opened the door, he was assaulted by Abby's music. It was loud and a mass array of drums and screaming that reminded him too much of his second wife. He braced himself and entered the Goth's domain, immediately aware of where she stood in front of her computer, sipping on a Caf-Pow.

"Abby."

She didn't turn and he realised that she couldn't hear him. He opened his mouth to call to her in a louder voice then shook his head, exasperated. Taking two steps to his right, he picked up the stereo remote and had blessed silence. Instantly, Abby turned from her workstation. Clad in a black t-shirt with a huge smiling skull embosomed on the front, a short skirt, long socks and platform boots, a stranger would never guess she was one of – if not the best – forensic scientists in the US.

"Hey, I was listening to that," she complained.

He dropped the remote on the desk, raised his eyebrows and shot her an impassive expression.

"Oh sorry. I'm almost done, just waiting for my baby to..." her voice faded as the screen started flashing. Without hesitation, she began to type and, curious, Fornell moved closer. Squinting, he peered over her shoulder at the monitor and tried to make out exactly what Abby had found.

"Oh no."

His eyes dropped from the monitor to her face. "What does 'oh no' mean exactly, Abby?"

She was still staring at the computer screen. "The phone is a throw away. Brought at a general store in ..."

He frowned as Abby went suddenly quiet. "It was bought at a general store … where?"

She stood and moved away from the computer, her eyes darting between him and the machine as she paced.

Frustrated, he moved closer to the computer. "Stillwater. Where is that? Pennsylvania?"

"Don't tell me you don't know!" she exclaimed, crossing to his side. When he glared at her, she dropped her voice. "Okay, maybe you don't. It's his home town; his alma mater. As in where he was born and spent his youth becoming the boss man we all know and love. This isn't good, Fornell. You have to do something."

Fornell had never believed in coincidences - not in his line of business anyway. This was too much of a red flag for him to ignore. He was already turning away from Abby, reaching for his cell phone when she stopped him.

"Wait. There's more. The general store belongs to Jackson Gibbs."

He looked at her. "Gibbs? What's the relation to Jethro?"

"His father," she said softly, adding more excitedly, "He might be in danger. You have to help him. Call him or . . ."

"Got it, Abbs." He turned away and punched a number into his phone. While the Goth continued to pace behind him, he ordered the deployment of a team of agents to Stillwater. When that was done, he called Directory Assistance for the elder Gibbs' phone number and prayed it was listed. He didn't have the time or patience to deal with the red tape that an unlisted number would cause him. So, when the operator read off the phone number, he found himself smiling.

The conversation between him and Jackson Gibbs was short and sweet. It seemed that Jethro and his father shared the 'gut' trait. The older man asked few questions when he was told a team was on their way to protect him. In fact, the only thing he asked was when they would arrive and why his son had not made the phone call. Fornell answered the first question honestly and, in response to the second, said that the agent in charge would explain everything when they arrived. Jackson Gibbs seemed to understand that nothing more could be said over the phone and grunted an uneasy acceptance of the response.

As he spoke to Jethro's father, he saw relief wash over Abby's face. When the conversation ended, he smiled at her and nodded when she asked if everything was all right. Instantly, he was rewarded with a hug. Only then did he tell her the reason he had come to see her in the first place.

"Abby, the forensic people found a bullet in the cabin wall. What happened there?"

The Goth turned away from him abruptly, her pig tails swinging in unison with the movement.

"Abby?"

He thought he heard a sniffle. He almost sighed. He didn't know if he could handle a crying Abby. Smiling and happy, yes. But he had never been very good with crying women and this was one he knew.

"Abby, what happened?"

"Nothing," she blurted.

"Abby…"

"Okay, not nothing but it wasn't that bad. It was all just for show to make McGee listen. No one was hurt. I didn't say anything because I didn't want anyone to go all gung ho with Gibbs and Tony and Ziva missing and..." she turned around, looking at him with big bright eyes, "and I don't really want to talk about it, okay."

The FBI agent folded his arms in response, tilted his head and waited her out.

**o0000000000o**

_3 June, 9:30 am_

Fornell had been long with the FBI long enough to know when things looked hinky and dangerous. This was definitely one of those situations. Haltingly, Abby had told him everything. She told him that the two men had set up an recording system and made her kneel in the middle of the room while McGee was handcuffed to a chair. They had then pulled the trigger of the gun and recorded her reaction. She had thought the shots were meant to wound her, in order to coerce McGee into cooperating; but the bullets never touched her.

Though he didn't admit it to her, he understood completely. The recordings had, most likely, been made for Gibbs, a warning for his cooperation or a way to torture him psychologically. If he were a betting man, he would say it was the later.

Hell, he'd use that technique a few times himself.

He looked up from his musings when the door to the conference room opened. Director Vance entered first, followed by an older gentleman that Fornell assumed to be Gibbs' father.

"Agent Fornell, Jackson Gibbs."

He shook the old man's hand, surprised when he was met with a firm grip belaying the older man's age.

"It's an honour, Sir. Care to sit?"

"So what is this about? They told me Leroy has gone missing. Is that true?"

Fornell nodded, took a photo out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. "Do you know this man?"

Jackson looked down briefly, a frown on his face.

"Yeah sure. His name is Hank Milner. He works at the Winslow mine. Why do you ask?"

For the first time hope welled up. He had a name. Maybe now the dots could be connected.

"Agent Fornell, why do you want to know?"

Fornell thought about staying quiet. But one look into those intense blue eyes and he knew where Gibbs' got his stubbornness from. He knew that keeping anything from this man could hinder his own investigation and he had run out of time.

He told Jackson Gibbs everything.

**o0000000000o**

_3 June, 10:30 am_

Ducky watched as the nurses packed ice packs around the agent, in an effort to lower his body temperature. The antibiotics were pumping into his system through an IV feed that was also delivering much needed nutrients but, still, Agent McGee's fever had not broken.

He stepped closer to the bed again as one of the nurses scribbled notes on the patient file hanging at the foot end of the bed.

"Ah, Timothy my boy," he murmured, wiping sweat ladened hair away from the young man's forehead. "You need to get better. Abigail is in need of your help and I'm very much afraid to say this, but so are your boss and the rest of the team."

After a few false starts, McGee opened his eyes. The orbs were glazed over and filled with confusion.

"Ducky, Abby - is she safe?"

The doctor nodded his answer. The young man had asked the question every time he awoke, and each time, he followed it with, "Did the Ivy get me?"

That question had him stumped the first time but when the ugly red lesions started appearing on the Probie's arms, he understood. McGee had – again- met up with poison ivy. At least with all the medication he didn't feel the itchiness or burn of it.

Ducky watched as McGee's eyes closed again, his breathing deepening into sleep. There was nothing more he could do for the poor boy but sit by his side until Abigail arrived that night. Making himself comfortable in the chair, he opened the file that Agent Fornell had provided and began reading about Mr. Chuck Winslow, whose disappearance coincided with Jethro's.

Like Fornell and Jethro, Ducky did not believe in coincidence.

**o0000000000o**

tbc


	18. Compromises

_Thanks for all the reviews and readers. Also a great big thank you to Imagine who did a great job with the dialogue. Thanks a bunch, my friend._

**Compromises**

_4 June, 11:00 am_

Neither of them was drinking but the mugs gave them something to fidget with in the silence.

Tony glanced to the side to where one of the men was leaning against the wall, an assault weapon cradled in his hand. Brown eyes met his. He held the stare for a few seconds before looking back at the scratched surface of the wooden table. His body was hurting but not as badly as it might have been. His burns had been treated. The bullet groove had been cleaned and patched. His fingers were set, a hand cast holding it all tight.

He knew none of it meant anything but it still scared the hell out of him.

He dropped the - Best Boss Ever - mug on the table and shifted in his chair. Sometime while he and Ziva had been unconscious they were moved from the barn to this house. A doctor had done his best to clean and mend their wounds then left without a word. Meanwhile, four guards kept careful watch. This time there'd be no Gibbs to the rescue.

If he had been the bad guy he would have moved them beyond his boss' reach. And, from what he had seen, Chuck Winslow was by no means stupid.

A heart carved into the table held his attention. He traced the scratchy outline with one long finger then glanced at the guard again. This time, though, he let his gaze wander until they found Ziva. There was something more than pain in her eyes and he shuddered to think what it could mean. She held his gaze only for a moment before dropping it to the mug she was holding.

"It's okay, Tony."

Tony grimaced. The guard by the door – the one he had privately nicknamed Droopy - shifted his stance, but did nothing to stop Ziva from talking.

"Saleem...," she paused, swallowed and then looked up, meeting his gaze directly for the first time since they had woken. She gathered her courage and then started again, "Saleem was a professional."

She said the words quietly, as if the simple statement should stop the images in his mind from playing in a continuous loop. For once he didn't know what to say. The movie reference he wanted to make stuck in his throat. Instead he grinned, knowing she would not see humor in his eyes.

"Great. Thank you for finally clearing up that confusion."

Ziva didn't reply. She held his gaze while her fingers traced the outline of the teddy bear on the mug.

"So what … no Israeli stoic word of wisdom for what happened back there? Or maybe there's nothing to say. Maybe, you just became so calloused, you don't feel anything anymore. Maybe you're okay with giving up. Which is it, Ziva?"

He knew he said the wrong thing the moment it left his lips but he had no intention of taking it back. He was hurting, scared and pissed off. He knew, as much as she did, the reason the torture had stopped. What she didn't know, though, was that the images of her bruised, broken and unconscious body had somehow morphed with images of his mother. Images of the day he had found her sprawled over the 18th century divan, her hand still clutching the pill bottle.

It was not something he was fond of remembering, but it was also not something he seemed to be able to control. They came without warning. Angry at his inability to control his own mind, he shrugged the vision away by physically rolling his shoulders as he looked back at the heart on the table. Suzie promised everlasting love to Tommy. He almost laughed.

"Things happen that you have no control over. You forget about it. You move on," she replied.

Tony slammed his broken hand down on the table, prompting the guard by the window to lift his weapon warningly. His fingers sent sharp signals of pain up his arm and he nearly regretted his physical outburst. Nearly.

He tilted his head aware that the lines around his mouth had tightened in response to his pain. The concern in the former Mossad officer's eyes did nothing to quell his frustration.

"It's not that easy, Z_eee_va. You never just move on," he hissed. "Don't tell me otherwise. Whatever happened to you in Somalia affects you today, as much as it did then. I know it does. I saw..."

"What happened there is none of your business," Ziva snapped. "It's in the past. Why can't you just accept it? You're the one that keeps bringing it up, asking questions when all I want is to be left _alone_."

"Sorry I care. I won't make that mistake again."

Ziva returned his glare. His fingers curled around the mug's handle and he started to rise when the cold barrel of a gun settled on his neck. He froze.

"Let go of the mug."

He did slowly and then placed his hand flat on the surface of the table when he was commanded. Ziva was already down on the floor, her hands behind her head, forehead pressed against the wooden boards.

"I watch movies too, Tony. Don't try that again."

He relaxed his shoulders and grinned. He couldn't help it. Pissing off bad guys was his specialty.

"Try what? This was nothing but two partners talking. What else could it possibly be?"

He grunted in pain when the barrel was pressed further into the bruise on his neck.

"A joker. Do you know what I do to guys who try their luck?"

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

And then the gun barrel moved. He barely had time to shift his hand to the left before the gun's stock gouged out a line across Tommy's name. A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, smashing his face into the table. Hard enough that he felt the roughened edges of the carved heart press against his cheek.

"My boss wants you alive but he said nothing about keeping you healthy. Try that crap again and I cut of your shooting finger. Got it?"

He glanced upwards as best he could at the angle. "Got it."

The guy he decided to name Hans Gruber nodded once and then let him go. He sat up slowly, fingering the mark left on his cheek. Ziva's eyes were carefully masked as she rose from the floor and sat down again on the chair across from him. Tony heard Hans move away and a brief whisper behind him. He was sure instructions were being given regarding him and Ziva. Still, it didn't faze him too much. At least now he knew how vigilant the bad guys were.

It didn't bode well for any escape attempts but he had always been a optimist. And he trusted Ziva enough to know that when the time came, she'd be ready.

**o0000000000o**

_4 June, 12:00 am_

Gibbs looked up from the table as the front door opened. He got a brief glimpse of sun, blue sky and brush before Chuck entered. The atmosphere in the cabin was humid and suffocating. He wiped his face as best he could, feeling the sweat already building up again.

"How we doing?"

He narrowed his eyes as he glanced up from his notes. Chuck was leaning over the table, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but his eyes were hard. Gibbs said nothing. Instead, he reached for the coffee mug and kept his thoughts carefully to himself. When he noticed Hank stiffen slightly, he lifted the cup in salute before downing the contents in one gulp.

He could feel Chuck's impatience with his delaying tactics, but it did bring a small measure of control to his situation. One he was hoping might end up with an opportunity to escape.

Chuck rose from his position, crossed his arms and said, "We're not children anymore, Leroy. Answer my question or another of your people will pay the price for your disobedience."

Gibbs spread the blueprints and his notes in position. "I need to scout the area. There are some aspects of the mission that can't be gleaned from what you've given me."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? No."

Gibbs didn't reply. He rose, gazing directly at the other man. Hank and Manual stepped closer, each reaching for their guns.

"You don't scare me, Leroy. I've got all the aces. You do as I say."

"You've moved Tony and Ziva to an undisclosed place. All I've got about McGee is a photo. I'm not going to take any chances with their lives at stake. But if you want me to do this right, I need to scout the area. Otherwise, take your chances with Hank because even if you kill all of them, I'm not gonna do one more thing for you."

Finally done with what was for him a long diatribe, he waited for Chuck to reply.

The other man glanced at his watch and then at the two guards. "Fine, if you want to scout, go ahead but Hank and Manual stay with you. Just remember, Leroy, your team has been through a lot, already, because of you. You don't want to add to it – especially not for Ziva. Poor thing. She's not quite as strong as she usually is."

Gibbs faced the man and shot him a quick grin. "Go ahead. Keep underestimating my team, Chuck. It will be the last thing you do."

**o0000000000o**


	19. Some more explaining

_Some more background stuff in this chapter. ;-) Thanks a bunch for everyone reading and reviewing. Also huge thanks to Imagine for her hard work in making this better._

**Some more explaining**

_4 June, 11:00 am_

McGee had fallen asleep. Again. Frustrated, Abby hugged Bert and, though it wasn't intentional, managed to elicit a loud farting noise from the hippo. Within seconds, the nurse assigned to her friend entered the room. When the woman saw the stuffed toy, she shook her head, a disapproving scowl on her face.

"Ms Scutio, please. His fever has only broken a few hours ago. He needs his rest."

She apologized but didn't feel sorry at all. She wanted McGee back to his old, slightly neurotic self. With one last warning glance, the nurse left and Abby thought about giving Bert another squeeze. Instead, she decided to carefully place Bert next to Tim, setting one flaccid hand on the hippo's head.

Absently tracing the outline of McGee's hand, she glanced at the screen by his bed. The machine reflected his temperature and heart rate back at her. Everything looked fine. He was a lot better than yesterday.

McGee's fever had finally broken and, earlier, he had been lucid enough to understand where he was and what had happened. Abby had listened from the hall as Fornell questioned McGee about their kidnapping. Tim, however, had nothing more to add to the own report she had given days before. Frustrated, Fornell left the room in a huff. There was no doubt that it was a serious huff – the kind with a capital H.

Her observations about the FBI agent, however, quickly gave way to the realization she was free to see her friend. At once, McGee was on the receiving end of an excited hug that soon had him coughing and her apologizing. She had then tried to explain about Gibbs, but had only managed to utter a few sentences when he inconveniently fell asleep.

The rest of the morning had pretty much been the same. McGee would slowly wake up, take a sip of water, and listen intently as she started her – by now - scientifically worked out pointer plan of What Had Happened. Each time, he fell asleep less than a minute after she began talking.

She gave a small huff and then seated herself by McGee's bed, alternating between watching the agent and the monitor. It hadn't taken her long to correlate the change in patterns on the screen to McGee's coming awake.

She smiled to herself at her remembered promise about the poison ivy and the reddish rash over his hands and arms. Grabbing the lotion from the bed cupboard, she squirted a bit onto her hand and then rubbed it into the rash.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I know I promised but we did make it out. And once we have Gibbs, I'll make sure that we catch the guys who did this to you. You just get better."

In answer McGee opened his eyes.

"Abby?"

"Oh, hi." She replied, a bit too brightly as she blinked a threatening tear away. McGee stared at her a little longer and she squeezed his hand, forgetting for the moment where it was resting. A loud farting noise escaped from beneath his hand.

McGee frowned at the noise then looked uncomfortably unsure.

"It's okay, Tim! It's not you. It's Bert," Abby held the offending hippo in the air. "I thought he would make you feel better. Always worked for me and it worked for Tony, too, that time he had the plague. But," she paused then lowered her voice conspiratorially as she continued, "I don't think Nurse Ratchett likes Bert. Which is a shame, you know, cause Bert would never ever hurt anyone."

McGee nodded and then frowned as a stray thought finally came through. "Who is Nurse Ratchett?"

"Oh, she's the übernurse that has been coming in every five minutes to check up on me. Really, I can't say why."

McGee glimpsed at Abby's clothes. Black t-shirt with dancing skulls, white skull-themed mini skirt with striped long socks and he was sure, her usual black platform boots.

"I'm sure she just making sure I'm doing okay, Abs." he managed to say with a slight grin, "I'm sure it has nothing to do with you."

Abby immediately beamed. "Maybe you're right. Maybe all she needs is a hug."

McGee wanted to debate the issue but he was beginning to feel sleep pull him back into unconsciousness. Abby was still babbling on about his nurse and how some people just needed what she called pick-me-up hugs compared to the I'm-not-lonely hugs when he finally drifted away.

One last thought kept nagging him though. He remembered something about Abby explaining that Gibbs, Tony and Ziva had gone missing.

It must have been the fever, he decided. Who would be crazy enough to kidnap a Marine sniper, a former Mossad assassin and a know-it-all that could talk his way out of anything?

He was sure he must have heard wrong but made a mental note to ask Abby again next time he woke.

**o0000000000o**

_4 June, 12:00 am_

Fornell was the last one to enter the boardroom. Seated around the table were Director Vance, Jackson Gibbs and Ducky Mallard. In front of the ME was a file already bulging with notes he was sure the doctor had spent the better part of the night compiling.

He put his own smaller folder in front of him on the desk.

"Agent McGee had nothing more to add to Ms. Scutio's report. But I've got some pertinent information from one of my tech guys about Chuck Winslow's financial reports."

"I knew about the other mining outfit coming in but I didn't think too much about it." Jackson Gibbs said slowly. "It's not like the Winslow's never had to deal with competition, so Jethro must have stirred up more than bad family history. Chuck's standing in the community has always been important to him."

Fornell tried not to stare at Jackson. The older Gibbs had just summed up in a few short sentences what his research techie had taken the better part of yesterday uncovering. For a moment he wondered about the history between the two, wondering why it had taken so long for him to find out that Gibbs' father was still alive. He also wondered whether Gibbs' famous rules originated from his father.

"Uhm, yeah. The Golden Arch Mining Group is in the process of acquiring the mineral rights required to legally mine in the area. They are a big conglomerate of subsidiary companies that tend to make hostile acquisitions of smaller rival mining companies. Once they succeed, they strip the mines of their most profitable assets before selling it to another outfit at artificially inflated prices. Usually the miners and the owners are intentionally excluded from the new contracts and either end up having to reapply for their jobs or get laid off completely. The reason Chuck is in trouble is because his son-in-law sold his significant share holding to Golden Arch in order to settle his legal fees. This transaction went ahead without Chuck's knowledge until it was too late. It was a big enough chunk to seriously hurt his influence on the Winslow mine."

"That explains the motive that Chuck had to kidnap Gibbs and his team. I've done a detailed psychological profile on him and it agrees with my findings."

"What else do you have, Dr. Mallard?" Vance asked, speaking for the first time in the meeting.

"Chuck Winslow is a classic narcissist who typically displays an exaggerated sense of self-importance, eclipsed only by a characteristic lack of empathy for others; even for his own family. He is obsessed with success and actual or perceived demonstrations of power. He is likely to exploit others for his own self interest, reacts badly to failure."

"Badly, how?"

"Aggressive, violent tendencies, I'm afraid," the doctor replied.

"In other words, he's your typical bad guy." Fornell stated.

"Do not underestimate him, Agent Fornell. Chuck Winslow is desperate. I fear for Jethro's life as well as the lives of Ziva and Tony. If pushed into a corner, he will resort to killing to achieve his goals."

"Got it, Dr. Mallard." Fornell said, turning to Director Vance, "I've put alerts on all of Winslow's cars as well as Milner's car. If they so much as sneeze in the direction of Washington, we'll find them."

"For Gibbs' sake, I hope so, Agent Fornell," Ducky stated softly.

**o0000000000o**

_4 June, 13:00 am_

"What did you find?"

"A car registered to Hank has been spotted on interstate 66 outside Centreville. It appears to be headed for Washington. There are three occupants, one of which has been identified as Agent Gibbs. Per your instructions no attempt has been made to stop or follow the car."

For a moment Fornell paused, allowing himself a few seconds to calculate how long it would take him to intercept the car.

"Setup a routine roadblock on the cross with route 655. I'll be there in…around 40 minutes. Have a uniform ready for me."

Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, he hurriedly made his way down the stairs to the car park. At least he had some idea of where Gibbs was and hopefully, the whereabouts of the rest of the team would become known soon.

He had no doubt that Chuck had used the gunnery-sergeant's loyalty to his team members to force him to do his bidding. And he had a fair idea what that task might be.

**o0000000000o**


End file.
